Double Trouble
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Some unexpected time traveling lands Spock and his wife T'Naisa on 1960s Earth, with a rather interesting couple. Co-authored with cphillygirl, this just-for-fun story features characters from her series, including some from unpublished installments. It contains 26 chapters, which I will release a few at a time. It rightly belongs before "Angels in the Trees" in my Beyond series.
1. Peculiar Happenings

**C** **hapter 1: Peculiar Happenings**

"Spock! Come look!"

Inside the Plum Creek cabin, Spock dropped what he was doing. There was no mistaking the note of exhilaration in his wife's voice, and from experience he knew that it could mean anything. Foremost in his mind was an image of T'Naisa on horseback performing some new "stunt". Though her obstetrician claimed that ordinary riding was not harmful in the first trimester of pregnancy, and T'Naisa herself had vowed to stay off her horse, she was very impulsive by nature.

Knowing that if she lost this child she might never have another, Spock hurried out the door, onto the porch. There was a loud clap of thunder and a heavy gust disarranged his bangs. The sunlight vanished in the shadow of a cloud. And there stood T'Naisa between the cabin and the corral, arms outstretched, red hair flying, her face flushed like an excited child.

"Look at that!" she cried, pointing to the sky.

Spock ventured out into the tempest and glanced up. There indeed was a towering cumulonimbus, the likes of which he had never seen before. The wind rapidly increased to a roar, and multiple bolts of lightning began to streak downward.

"T'Naisa!" he shouted. "Come inside! Hurry!"

Her arms dropped and she ran his way. As she reached him, he grasped her hand tightly. And at that instant a great flash of light engulfed them…

oooo

It was a cool midmorning on Main Beach at Santa Cruz. Several people were taking advantage of the pleasant day by surfing, beach combing, or jogging along the moist sand. Others were enjoying the entertainment on the boardwalk.

Spock and his wife T'Mara strolled hand-in-hand by the water's edge, watching sunlight glisten on the beautiful Pacific Ocean. After a moment T'Mara stopped and turned to him. Admiring his meticulously groomed beard, she ran her hands under each of his coat's lapels and flashed a playful smile. "You really do look dangerously appealing today, my sweet."

Stroking her cheek with his fingers, he asked, "Dangerous?"

"You will find out what I mean when we return to the hotel room," she replied mischievously.

"Indeed, then perhaps we should continue in that direction."

But T'Mara remained rooted to the spot, for suddenly the day had dimmed. Looking up at the formerly blue sky, she found it engulfed with roiling black clouds. "Odd," she said. "They didn't predict rain."

Observing the abrupt change, Spock agreed. "The weather service forecast a sunny day. Come, we better hurry back to the boardwalk and seek shelter."

Lightning hit the water. The wind began blowing hard, sending sand into their faces. The scene continued to darken as Spock and T'Mara rushed toward the boardwalk, but before they could reach the steps, a clap of thunder roared and a bright light encompassed them.

Somehow they were no longer on the beach.

Spock held tight to T'Mara's arm as they swayed with vertigo. Then taking a deep breath, he placed a hand on his temple and succeeded in eliminating the sense of dizziness. He then steadied T'Mara as she regained her balance.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yes...yes I believe I am. But where are we?"

Spock surveyed their surroundings. They were standing in a dark, narrow roadway between two commercial buildings. High overhead, stars were visible. Judging by the sounds of the city, it was doubtful that they were still anywhere in Santa Cruz…or even in the 23rd century.

T'Mara had reached the same conclusion. Recalling another shift into the past that she had experienced with her husband, she cried, "No...not again! Where have we landed this time?"

Looking toward the nearest end of the roadway, Spock inwardly sighed. On the adjacent street, antique cars could be seen rolling on rubber tires. Bright neon signs glowed on storefronts. "Bailey's Bail Bonds", "Pawn Palace", "Trixie's XXX", "Paradise Tavern".

Finally he said, "If my grasp of history is accurate, I estimate mid-20th century Earth. As to where _…_ "

At a crackling sound, they both turned sharply. The crackling became loud and thunderous. They shielded their eyes as a bright yellow light appeared near them. It dissipated within seconds, leaving behind two people who seemed to be recovering from the shock of the experience.

Spock's brows crept into his bangs. It was a moment before he could speak, and then only one word emerged. "Fascinating."

There before him stood a mirror image of himself, only this man was clean-shaven. At the stranger's side was a beautiful woman arranging her fiery red hair over Vulcanoid ear tips.

 _Unusual_ , Spock thought, for he had never before seen a redheaded Vulcan. For that reason he surmised that—like T'Mara and himself—she was also part human.

His male 'twin' began scrutinizing both him and T'Mara. After a moment the double muttered, "Most peculiar." He then became concerned over his female companion. "T'Naisa, are you well?"

When she nodded in the affirmative, the male twin said, "May I suggest that we all retreat deeper into the shadows, lest we attract the attention of onlookers."

Spock agreed on the advisability of the action. Keeping his eyes on the strange pair, they moved into the alley and stood face to face. There he warily addressed the man. "Since I do not have access to a tricorder, I am going to take a leap in logic. I will assume that you…and the female…are physical beings. I am going to make a second assumption that you were transported here during a storm."

"You are correct on both counts," replied the twin. "We are indeed physical beings and yes, we were engulfed by a peculiar tempest while outside our cabin at Plum Creek. I therefore make the same assumption regarding the two of you."

"Indeed," Spock concurred. "We were on a beach at Santa Cruz. An unexpected storm arose, and we suddenly found ourselves in this locale."

The twin's slanted eyebrow climbed. "So...whether by a temporal disturbance or by some other means, we seem to have been thrust into an alternate reality. In any case, I feel that introductions are in order. I am Spock and this is my wife, T'Naisa."

Spock's eyebrow rose even higher. "Unusual, to the say this least. I am _also_ Spock, and this is _my_ wife, T'Mara."

The two women faintly smiled at each other. Wishing to establish a relationship with her counterpart, T'Mara ventured to say, "T'Naisa...Plum Creek as in Plum Creek, Colorado?"

T'Naisa replied in a warm, expressive manner that belied her Vulcan appearance. "No, it's in Idaho. Not a town, but the name of a mountain property that we own. It belonged to Jim Kirk's uncle and—"

"T'Naisa," her Spock cautioned. "We should not reveal personal information until we have a better understanding of our situation."

"Wise," said the bearded Spock.

Overhead, the stars were now obscured and a light drizzle began to fall. Since the Spock-twin and T'Naisa wore thin clothing and no jackets, they were soon shivering.

"A most unpleasant situation," the twin said. "We cannot remain here, yet if we leave this alley, our alien appearance will draw unwelcome attention."

Spock took off his jacket and was about to hold it out to T'Naisa when he changed his mind and offered it, instead, to his clean-shaven double. "For your wife."

"Most kind," the twin said, and T'Naisa gratefully accepted it from his hands.

"We must find shelter," Spock said decisively. He waved his companions toward the end of the alley, where they all peeked out at a wide street with a steady flow of traffic. There were not many pedestrians on the sidewalk, other than three young men loitering nearby in a suspicious manner.

Spock watched a brown-skinned man come striding along the sidewalk. As the man passed by, all three loiterers sprang into action, struck the defenseless man on the back of his head, and hustled him toward the alley. There was no way for Spock to consult his alternate, but as it turned out, there was no need. Both of them leaped upon the thugs, immediately dropping two with well-placed nerve pinches. The third one backed away from the scene and ran in a cowardly manner.

T'Mara and T'Naisa bent over the crime victim, who had never completely lost consciousness. Sitting with a hand pressed to his neatly cropped African hair, he glanced around at his peculiar-looking rescuers and broke into a bright, thankful smile.

"Well, what d'you know, a bunch of actors in makeup. Thank you, gentlemen! If you'd just help me to my feet…"

"You need a doctor," T'Mara said with concern. It was raining more heavily now; they were getting wetter and colder by the minute—a dangerous state of affairs for desert-bred Vulcans.

Spock got the man to his feet and they all stood together on the glistening sidewalk.

The man held out his hand to him and said, "Tyrone. Tyrone Kennett."

Spock knew from experience that assuming a regional pseudonym was wise during timeshifts. Directly behind Tyrone, a name was emblazoned on the marquee of a run-down theater. It would have to do.

"Wayne," he said, accepting the handshake. "And this my…brother, John."

"Wayne, John." Tyrone pulled out a wallet and produced a fistful of paper money. "I want to give you a reward."

"That is not necessary," John-Spock said.

Wayne-Spock gave him a severe look, accepted the bills, and pocketed them. "Thank you, Tyrone. As a matter of fact, we were finding ourselves quite short of funds." Hesitating only slightly, he ventured to ask, "Could you tell us where we are?"

"You mean you're lost? Man, this is Hollywood Boulevard."

"In which city?" John-Spock asked, utterly serious.

Tyrone laid back his head and laughed. "That's a good one. Are you guys a comedy act?"

T'Naisa quickly spoke up. "They _are_ very funny, aren't they? We've just arrived from out of town. Would you happen to know someplace to stay around here? Someplace cheap? I'm not joking—all we have are the clothes on our backs."

Tyrone sobered. "Hey, I have a great idea. I owe you guys a lot. As you can tell, this is a seedy part of town. I was just heading out to check on a vacant building that I inherited when my uncle passed away. How would you like to be caretakers? I'll only charge you for the utilities. It has a little upstairs apartment and a storefront at street level. Most everything you'd need is there. Furniture, a few old clothes in the closet, even some canned goods in the cupboards. Want to take a look?"


	2. A Friend

**Chapter 2: A Friend**

Tyrone led the foursome to an impressive-looking 1960 Cadillac DeVille parked along the curb, and opened the doors facing the sidewalk. As he went around to the driver side, T'Mara slid to the middle of the front seat and Wayne-Spock sat beside her. T'Naisa and John-Spock slipped into the backseat.

The car was rolling along the boulevard when Tyrone said, "Hey guys, I really do appreciate what you did for me. You've restored my hope for mankind." And with complete sincerity he added, "I really thought no one would come to my aid."

"You are indeed welcome, Mr. Kennett," Wayne-Spock assured him.

"Please call me Tyrone."

"Tyrone, we could not allow such brutality to happen to anyone," Wayne-Spock said.

"Well, not all see it that way. Some would walk on by because of the color of my skin. _You_ know." Tyrone's voice grew noticeably bitter. "One less black man to worry about."

"It is illogical to judge people by the color of their skin pigmentation," John-Spock remarked. He would have liked to share his experience of racial prejudice from the anti-Vulcan group named CUE, but in this timeline no one had yet encountered Vulcans or any other extraterrestrial.

Tyrone approached an intersection and stopped before a red-colored signal. "No, it's not logical, but there are still some folks who see others as inferior. It should be like Reverend King says. Judge people on character, not skin color. I tell you, it does my heart good to see Wayne here with his lovely wife. An interracial marriage…yes siree..." The signal changed to green and the car began moving into a more prosperous area. "But enough of that. So you fellows came here hoping to make a splash in Hollywood?"

The unfamilar slang took the Spocks by surprise, so T'Mara quickly intervened. "Not really…but job-wise, they _are_ in need of a fresh start."

From the backseat, John-Spock ventured to say, "Yes, gainful employment."

Beside him, T'Naisa took his hand and sighed.

Wayne-Spock was still thinking of racial matters as he peered out past the windshield wipers. T'Mara's human side included some African ancestry that showed in her features as well as her dusky skin tone. Tyrone had noticed. Would she be endangered by her physical appearance? Briefly closing his eyes, he pushed those unfounded worries from his mind. Then reaching out, he lightly stroked her cheek.

She turned her head and faced him. "What is it?" she asked softly.

"Nothing, T'Mara. I..." He felt his twin's eyes upon him. He wanted to tell his wife that he loved her, but would this other Spock see him as too human? Letting his hand drop, he said, "I will share it with you when we have a private moment." He looked out at the pedestrians. Young men wore their hair in a shaggy style or as long and free-flowing as the ladies. Though the weather was inclement, some women had skirts as short as the old, outdated Starfleet uniforms. Others dressed in skirts that flowed all the way to their ankles. All were behaving in a peaceful manner.

Tyrone pulled up to the curb in front of a stucco storefront. "Okay, gang, we're here."

They exited the vehicle, followed Tyrone to the side entrance of the building, and walked up two flights of steps. Tyrone unlocked the front door to the apartment, releasing a rather disagreeable odor. Flipping on a light, he let the four enter first. "Okay, this is your new pad. Not exactly luxurious, but it has all the basics. Here in the living room you have a sofa bed, two chairs, and a coffee table."

He led them to the kitchen/dining area which was equipped with an old stove and refrigerator. Four mismatched chairs surrounded a small round table. Tyrone briefly opened one of the faded wood cabinets. "Here's a few canned goods. You know—corn, peas, fruit. There's a small grocery store two blocks to the left of the building. I believe it's called Hinkle's. The money I gave you should buy enough food for a few days."

Tyrone walked them to a small bedroom and opened the door. "Not much. A bed, dresser, night stand, and a closet. Those clothes I mentioned are in there. One box of men's clothing and another of women's stuff."

As they exited the room, Tyrone pointed to the end of a short hallway. "Of course, a bathroom…with some TP, soap, and shaving supplies. There's also a cabinet with towels and bed sheets. You'll have to find a Laundromat, unless you plan on washing your things in the sink."

They all returned to the living room, where Tyrone placed a set of keys on the black coffee table. He appeared to be thinking as his eyes focused on the two men standing close by their wives. Suddenly his face brightened. "I got it! You might be interested to know that I'm a stunt man for Greg Morris on _Mission Impossible_. You must have seen it on TV. Anyhow, they're shooting a new science fiction show on the adjacent lot. I've wandered over there, and I'm not kidding, but you two guys really resemble the actor who's playing some kind of alien, complete with those fake pointed ears and slanted eyebrows. They've only got a couple of shows in the can, and Nimoy's stunt double is pathetic."

"Stunt…double?" Wayne-Spock questioned.

"Yeah, you know. They do all the physical scenes so the actors don't get hurt. How about I pick you up at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow? I have an "in" with the producer. Maybe he'll let you double for Nimoy." He went over to a little electric wall clock and set the time. Then his eyes settled on the bearded Spock. "Uh, Wayne, I'm afraid you'd have to get rid of those whiskers. The alien is clean-shaven."

T'Mara turned to her husband and lightly caressed his goatee. Kissing his cheek, she smiled and said, "That _is_ too bad."

Obviously discomfited by the open show of affection, John-Spock said, "Thank you, Tyrone. We shall be ready and waiting at seven. However…" Once more, he appeared uncomfortable. "Are certain papers required for employment? I regret to say that we have none."

"Not even social security cards?"

"Unfortunately, not."

"No problem," Tyrone said. "You only need a birth certificate to get those." He glanced from Wayne to John. "Let me guess. You don't have them, either…but don't worry any. You helped me and I'll help you. Fake certificates are easy enough to get. Where would you guys like to be born?"

"Vulcan," John-Spock murmured with a touch of asperity.

Tyrone's dark eyes twinkled. "Vulcan, Missouri? Hey, I've been there! Good choice. Well, I gotta run. See you all in the morning." His hand went up and two fingers made a V. "Peace out, everyone."

Wayne-Spock returned the odd hand gesture. "Peace, Tyrone. And may I add my thanks, as well."

The four watched Tyrone leave.

John-Spock was the first to speak. "With that being resolved, how do we decide who uses the bedroom?"

"Perhaps alternating weeks," Wayne-Spock suggested.

John-Spock looked at his wife and she nodded. T'Mara nodded as well.

"So that is settled," Wayne-Spock said. "Now since I have the money in hand, I propose to find Hinkle's store and purchase food for us. We will also need some personal products."

T'Mara spoke up. "None of your ears are round like mine. T'Naisa can hide hers with hair, but you men are going to need some cover. Let's hope there are hats in that closet." She hurried off to the bedroom and returned with a pair of knitted caps. "We're in luck. Here, there'll be one for each of you when you need them."

Wayne-Spock donned a navy blue cap and John-Spock held a brown one in reserve. T'Naisa removed Wayne's coat and handed it back to him. As he put it on, he felt the warmth of her body in the material—a rather disturbing sensation, but he turned his mind from it and left the apartment.

Feeling chilly, T'Naisa looked about and found an antiquated heater control on the living room wall. Warm air was soon blowing through vents in the ceiling. "I hope that helps kill the stink," she remarked in her usual blunt manner.

"Stale tobacco smoke," T'Mara said, sinking into one of the upholstered chairs. "It was perfectly legal in this time period. Can you imagine?"

Giving no answer, John-Spock and T'Naisa sat together on the sofa. The room grew so quiet that T'Mara began to sincerely wish that she had gone out with her husband. Her eyes travelled from the other Spock to T'Naisa. Feeling increasingly uneasy with the situation, she said, "So...uh...John. When my husband shaves his beard, it's going to be hard telling you two apart. I certainly don't want to kiss the wrong Spock."

T'Naisa gave a nervous smile. "Yes that would be awkward, to say the least." Reaching for her husband's hand, she said, "I don't think he would appreciate _me_ kissing his twin."

His eyebrow rose sharply. "T'Naisa, I do not believe that can happen, for neither Wayne nor I would allow it. And since he wears a wedding band, one need only check our left hands to distinguish between us."

T'Naisa looked upon him with affection and sighed. "I was only joking, Spock. Humor…"

"…is a difficult concept," he finished for her, eyes twinkling, as if it were a private joke between them.

It seemed to T'Mara that T'Naisa would have liked a kiss, but her Spock refrained from doing so. He was definitely more restrained than her own husband. Maybe Wayne's example would teach him how to be more expressive toward his wife.


	3. Questions and Answers

**Chapter 3: Questions and Answers**

T'Mara was relieved when her husband returned from Hinkle's with a paper bag full of merchandise. Getting up, she joined him in the kitchen and looked with concern at the items he had purchased.

"This won't carry us for long," she whispered. "What happens then?"

Placing a hand on the small of her back, he quietly told her, "I did not spend all the money. Perhaps we will find employment tomorrow. T'Mara, we need to trust that God will sustain us. He has already placed Tyrone in our lives, and through him provided us with food and shelter." Drawing even closer, he added, "Remember, we have been put in this timeline for a reason."

T'Mara tried to be optimistic. "Yes…my wise husband. Though we don't yet comprehend the reason, perhaps in time it will come clear."

Wayne took her by the arms and gazed into her eyes. "Earlier, in the car…I wanted to tell you that I love you."

Her heart warmed. "I love you, too," she said, and they shared a brief kiss on the lips.

Wayne returned to the living area and sat down in a chair.

From the kitchen T'Mara called, "T'Naisa, would you like to help me prepare our evening meal?"

"Of course." T'Naisa stood and went to her.

Wayne thought of the words that he had just shared with his wife. Looking over at his double, he wondered about John's part in God's plan. He would have liked to introduce the subject, but not knowing if it would be well-received, he simply engaged in light conversation.

Soon T'Mara said, "Alright gentlemen, dinner is served."

She had placed a platter of stir-fried vegetables and noodles on the table, and everyone sat down.

John looked at T'Mara and her husband, then at his own wife, who nodded. Clearing his throat, he said, "Would anyone object to a blessing?"

T'Mara's eyes widened slightly and she glanced at Wayne, who seemed equally surprised. _A blessing? What form might it take?_

"By all means," Wayne said, "go ahead. T'Mara and I also follow such a custom." He reached toward his wife. "We usually…hold hands."

"Yes, let's." T'Naisa smiled and took the hand of her husband on one side, and the hand of T'Mara's husband on the other, completing the circle.

John bowed his head and the others followed suit as he said, "O Loving Father, bless us and these gifts which we have received through the _Shiav's_ goodness."

They all let go of each other's hands.

Wayne was caught off guard—not only by his twin's prayer, but also by its nature. It was his turn to clear his throat. "You pray to God as a "loving Father". Who is this "Shiav" you mentioned?"

"T'rel N'hor Yanash, slain for the salvation of all Vulcan," John replied before helping himself to a portion of the stir-fry. "My wife and I are among his followers. In your reality, have you heard of him?"

Holding onto his composure, Wayne carefully said, "Yes, in our reality I read the reports of…of an alleged savior coming to Vulcan. Not just of his arrival, but also dubious stories of a cruel execution and subsequent resurrection. The Vulcan media referred to it as…a most shameful deception."

John's brow rose. "I assure you, it is no deception. Both T'Naisa and I knew Yanash personally and can attest to the veracity of those stories. On Vulcan, the followers of the Way are laboring under such severe restrictions that many have come to Earth. Are we the first Yanashites you have met?"

"We haven't encountered any Yanashites in San Francisco," Wayne answered. "Though my wife and I are Christians, I would be interested to learn more about your Shiav."

John set down his fork and studied his double. "Christians. Yes, that is good to hear. My first wife was a Christian, as is one of my sons. And I have a grown daughter named T'Beth who is exploring the faith." He drew a breath. "Excuse me, but did you say that you live in San Francisco?"

"Yes, we do. Or perhaps I should say that we _will."_

"What year?" John asked.

Thinking his twin was merely curious, Wayne told him.

T'Naisa and her husband shared a long look. Then John revealed, "That is also the year from which we were taken. In our timeline, San Francisco…and much of the West Coast…no longer exist."

There followed a lively discussion, after which John warned, "If you are able to return, I strongly suggest that you investigate the seismic situation. It may be that the stresses in your timeline are only delayed. Could that be why…" His voice trailed off.

T'Naisa reached over and touched him. "What? What are you saying?"

Rousing himself, he spoke with an unusual measure of excitement. "I am saying that perhaps we were brought together so that I might share this information with you. Thus equipped, you may be able to reduce the tectonic stress and prevent disaster. Since the Big Quake, I have been studying the situation with experts from around the galaxy. I can convey to you their findings, which include one plan in particular that I think is quite feasible."

T'Naisa met T'Mara's eyes and they exchanged a smile. There would be no stopping those two now. After every bit of dinner was consumed, the women cleared off the table and washed the dishes.

"Well," T'Naisa said with her hands full of soapsuds, "since my Spock is talking up a storm, I don't see why I can't tell you a little about Plum Creek. As I was saying, it's in Idaho…way up in the Sawtooth Mountains. We just finished converting the barn into a little retreat center, complete with temple. When—rather, _if_ —we get back there, Spock will give educational lectures."

"And what about you?" T'Mara asked.

"Oh, I don't have his education, but I can give talks about Yanash, since I knew him. Mainly I take care of Jamie from Spock's first marriage...and of course, my commandant."

"Your commandant? Who is that?"

T'Naisa's lips curved into a smile and she tipped one slanted eyebrow toward the living room.

"Oh," T'Mara said. "Commandant of Starfleet Academy?"

"Yes, back when I was a cadet."

"Interesting," T'Mara remarked. _"My_ husband just recently became commandant. And I'm a counselor at the base." Her lovely face saddened. "Or at least that's how it was until this misadventure…"

All four were back in the living room, quietly discussing their temporal difficulties, when the clock on the wall reached midnight. It was time for some rest. John and his wife found fresh sheets and settled in the bedroom.

Meanwhile, Wayne pulled out the bed from the sofa. Fortunately it came with covers already on it, and they appeared to be clean. Turning out the lights, he and T'Mara stripped to their underwear and lay down.

T'Mara snuggled up to him and said, "This foam mattress isn't very soft. And that metal bar in the middle of the frame doesn't help one bit."

"Indeed. But we will likely find it better than the floor."

"I agree." That said, she began kissing a path across his chest, to his neck.

"T'Mara..." His voice came low in the darkness. "Do you think it is wise to initiate such activities with our…uh…counterparts likely to open their door at any moment?"

"Aw," came the reply, "they're probably fast asleep."

She continued enticing him in a way that was hard to ignore, with her hands roaming over his body and kisses intense with passion. At last, giving in to her want, he pulled her tightly to him.

T'Naisa and John were alone at last, in a room that was…almost…dark. Neon signs flashed through the slits in the window blinds. Even at this late hour, traffic could be heard on the street below—engines revving, tires on wet pavement, a siren, a horn.

T'Naisa removed the last of her clothing and would not have bothered with nightclothes, even if she had them. Tonight she needed to be very close to her husband—skin close—and getting under the covers, she found that he had stripped down to his long leg briefs. It would have to do.

Entwining her body with his, she toyed with the hair on his chest as she complained, "Of all the times for this to happen. Look at us; two aliens stuck back before Earth's first contact, and I'm pregnant. What happens if we're still here when the baby comes? What if one of us gets hurt…or sick? And what about Jamie? By now, he's come home from school and found us missing."

"James is fourteen. He would know enough to call for help," John said with assurance. His fingers caressed her cheek and played in her curls. "As for your other concerns, it may be that first contact will come sooner that previously recorded. Try not to worry. Even here, we are not alone…and I am not referring to our counterparts." He gently kissed her forehead and her lips.

In this strange place, on this first day, she did not feel secure enough for deeper intimacies, but they held one another and continued to speak.

"These others," she said. "A bearded Spock with a different wife. How can it be possible?"

"Indeed," he replied. "I suspect they are finding the two of us equally peculiar."

T'Naisa was slipping off to sleep when a noise roused her. Listening, she tipped her head and found her husband's eyes open. "They aren't…" she said. "Are they?"

"T'Naisa, that sofa bed is probably not very comfortable. They are most likely finding an agreeable position."

Creak...creak...squeak...Squeak…SQUEAK…

There was no doubt about it. The noise was getting louder and louder.

T'Naisa huffed. "Finding an agreeable position, my foot. More like _positions_."

Drawing her a bit closer, John said, "Perhaps tomorrow we will test a few springs of our own."


	4. The Brandt Twins

**Chapter 4: The Brandt Twins**

Morning came, and while the men prepared a simple breakfast, the female contingent went to sort through the boxes of clothes.

Wayne began heating water for oatmeal. John took apples out of the refrigerator and found the only knife in the kitchen, a quite large one of the "chef" variety. Wayne could not help but notice how hesitantly his twin picked up the implement and just stared at it. He was about to remark on the strange behavior when laughter sounded from the bedroom.

John came out of his abstracted state, and they both looked toward the continuing sounds of mirth.

Curious, Wayne turned off the stove. "Come John, let us see what our wives find so amusing."

They entered the bedroom together and approached the women, who doubled over with fresh laughter.

T'Mara pulled out a blue, boldly patterned shirt. "Look at the clothes you two get to wear. I think they're called dashikis. And bell bottom jeans to go with them."

Grinning widely, T'Naisa pulled out a second, bright purple dashiki.

"There must certainly be other options." John declared.

Enjoying herself immensely, T'Mara shook her head. "Sorry, but no. Unless you want a T-shirt with a picture of Malcolm X, or one promoting cannabis use."

"How very unfortunate," both Spocks said in unison.

The wives did their best to commiserate before showing them the women's clothing. All four agreed that the long flowing skirts were actually attractive.

After breakfast, the men took turns in the bathroom, learning the intricacies of aerated shaving cream and Gillette razors, accumulating only a few minor nicks in the process. When it was all over, the women appraised their husbands. Then the two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing yet again.

T'Mara was the first to recover. "Oh, sorry, but those dashikis and jeans you're wearing. It's hilarious."

Just then someone knocked on the door.

John quickly donned his knitted hat and found Tyrone outside. Their landlord entered the apartment and then he was chuckling, too. Raising a fist in the air, he said, "Hey, power to the people."

Seeing the confused expressions on each Spock, he lowered his hand. "Never mind. Oh my, I didn't realize what kind of clothes my uncle left behind. I'm glad you're wearing different color dashikis. Without that beard, I can't tell you both apart. Mm, mm." Eyeing their peculiar wardrobe, he shook his head. "I tell you what. I'll try and scrounge up some clothes they've used on _Mission: Impossible_ , and I bet they'll be more to your liking. Well, I see you've already got your makeup on. Let's go."

Wayne also donned his knitted hat, and they were out the door.

As the Cadillac arrived at Desilu Studios and rolled through the gate, the two Spocks had serious misgivings about the venture. Once their hats were off, they would be totally exposed to the vagaries of 20th century man.

On the way over, they had requested that they share the backseat in order to discuss some matters of importance. Now, under cover of the radio, John leaned close to Wayne and said, "If they should examine our ears closely…"

"We won't let them," Wayne replied, but even he seemed a bit pale in his garish blue dashiki. "We are…jealous…of our makeup secrets."

"Makeup," John said with distaste. "It has such a feminine connotation."

Tyrone parked the car and led them toward a large building. As they walked, Wayne and John heard a droning sound overhead. Stopping to scan the brilliant blue sky, they saw a silvery propeller-driven aircraft in flight.

"That's a DC-3," Tyrone said. "Don't see too many of those anymore."

"Remarkable," John replied. He looked forward to observing many more aeronautical museum pieces.

They entered the building and came to a door. "Gentlemen," Tyrone said with a flourish, "you are about to meet the Great Bird of the Galaxy."

John cocked an eyebrow and said, "A great bird? I thought we were seeing the producer of a television show."

"You're a scream," Tyrone chuckled. He opened the door and they entered an outer officer, where a receptionist spoke to him and waved all three toward yet another door. Tyrone escorted them in, saying, "Mr. Roddenberry, here are those fellas. The ones with the ears." Grinning broadly he ordered, "Hats off, men."

Contrary to every instinct of self-preservation, they complied. A large, friendly looking man rose from behind a desk. His eyes fixed on the pair of Vulcans and his mouth dropped open.

"Incredible…" he breathed. Still staring, he came around his desk and held out his hand. "I'm Gene Roddenberry. And you are…?"

John quickly accepted the handshake. Appropriating his wife's surname, he said, "I am John Brandt and this is my brother, Wayne."

"The Brandt twins." Roddenberry vigorously shook each of their hands. Then, as one might expect, he selected an ear—it was Wayne's—and moved in for a closer examination.

Wayne took a step backward. "Please, sir."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Roddenberry apologized. "It's just that I've never seen such fine work. We've been having one helluva time getting them right." And he added, "Tyrone here says that you're interested in doubling for Nimoy?" Now he was peering at their slanted eyebrows. "There really is an uncanny resemblance."

"That is only to be expected," John said. "Genetically, twins are identical in—"

Roddenberry smiled. "Yes, of course. But I meant identical to my actor. To his character, Spock."

Both Wayne and John froze. In one voice they said, " _Spock?"_

"Yes, Spock. That's the name of the Vulcan character—well, actually, he's half human, too. He joined Starfleet over the objection of his father, Sarek. Now he serves aboard a Federation starship called the _Enterprise_. His captain is named Kirk. I tell you, this show is going to be a great hit. There's never been anything like it."

"…No, I suppose not," John agreed in a weak voice. "Nothing at all like it. Ever."

It was all so utterly unlikely that he could not help but cock a brow at his counterpart. Just then the door burst open and another man appeared, wearing a blue, outdated Starfleet uniform and pointed ears, one of which was slightly askew.

"Gene, about this script," he said in a voice very much like theirs. In fact, everything about the man was like them…only he was completely _human._

Script in hand, the man stopped and stared at them.

And Roddenberry said, "Leonard Nimoy, meet the Brandt twins—your new stunt doubles." In an aside to the Brandts, he informed them, "Of course only one of you can work at a time."


	5. Free to a Good Home

**Chapter 5: Free to a Good Home**

As Tyrone drove them back to the apartment with their hats in place, John-Spock and Wayne-Spock attempted to assimilate the day's many shocks. Wayne sat in front, and John was quite content to have the back seat to himself.

"I'll have those ID's made up tonight," Tyrone was telling them. "You can pay me back later. Then you can sign your contracts and fill out some union papers."

John gathered his thoughts and said, "Tyrone. You mentioned a great bird, but we never saw it."

Tyrone laughed loudly. Working the steering wheel, he turned down a side street.

Suddenly, Wayne all but shouted, "Stop!"

Tyrone slowed and pulled over to the curb of the residential street. John leaned forward and looked. There before them was a green vehicle with faded imitation wood-paneling. A sign in the rear window read, " **FREE TO A GOOD HOME".**

Then Wayne was out the door, walking around the worn automobile and examining it from every angle. John and Tyrone left the Cadillac, and as they joined him, Wayne stroked his newly shaven chin and said, "Can this truly be free of charge?"

Wayne was about to open the driver door when an attractive fair-haired woman came up to him. He felt very conspicuous in his gaudy dashiki and knitted hat.

Eyeing him, she asked, "You interested in this piece of crap?"

Wayne hesitated. "If you are referring to the vehicle, yes."

She handed him a small metal loop from which two antique keys dangled. "Here, it's yours. That station wagon is all my ex left me, and I can't stand the sight of it. I'll be upfront with you; it's as worthless as him. The old crate only runs when it feels like it. Good riddance to them both, I say."

Though Wayne did not understand the references to an "X" or an "old crate", he felt it best not to ask the young lady what she meant. "Thank you, Miss. Are you certain you do not want some monetary compensation? My brother and I were just hired, so we could pay you something before long."

"No, please. I'm just glad to get rid of it. I've already signed my pink slip. It's in the glove box, along with the current registration."

Wayne's face grew warm. He did not understand why the woman had taken an item of her underclothing—a pink slip—and inscribed her name upon it. Though it seemed a strangely intimate gesture, he collected himself and said, "Well…then…I must thank you for your generosity."

Wayne then walked over to John and asked, "Would you care to ride with me?" Noting John's hesitation he added, "T'Mara and I own an antique ground vehicle called a Camaro. I have 32.52 years of such driving experience, so I am well acquainted with the skills involved."

Tyrone hooted. "Antique vehicle! The Camaro is in its first year of production!"

Too late, Wayne realized his error. "Did I say Camaro? Perhaps I misspoke. As you say, the Camaro has only just arrived on the market." He cast his twin a silent plea. "Come, John. Our wives will be expecting us."

Tyrone was still laughing over the "antique" Camaro. "Well guys, I'll lead the way and make sure you get home. That is, if you can even start that thing."

"That would be greatly appreciated," John said. With some misgivings, he opened the passenger door and settled onto the ripped vinyl upholstery. Wayne was already in the driver's seat. Finding no safety belt, Wayne went ahead and inserted the key into the ignition switch. He then scanned the floorboard in apparent confusion.

John was not reassured. "You claim over 30 years of experience. But are you sure that you can drive _this_ vehicle?"

Suddenly Wayne noticed a lever emerging from the steering column. Then he studied the instrument panel and comprehension dawned. "I do have experience, but our car has a manual transmission. A vehicle in which you place one foot on the clutch pedal and change gears with a shifter."

"Ah, yes. I vividly remember riding in an old car of that type with Captain Kirk. It was not a pleasant experience." He could only hope that his twin fared better than Jim.

"This car is what one calls an 'automatic'," Wayne said.

His eyes found the letters LDNRP. The gearshift was in the "P" position. Remembering what T'Mara had once told him about such transmissions, he knew it was safe to turn the key. The engine sputtered, then bucked in a manner that shook them to the roots of their hair. Hoping to improve the engine's performance, he lightly stepped on the accelerator pedal. The strategy succeeded somewhat, but the car was still vibrating in an inappropriate manner. As Wayne maneuvered the gear lever to the "D" position, Tyrone pulled out in front of them. With a cautious application of fuel, the vehicle moved and they were on their way.

They arrived at their apartment a bit unnerved, but without incident. As both Spocks exited the vehicle, Tyrone opened the trunk of his Cadillac and handed them two bags filled with clothes discarded from the _Mission: Impossible_ show.

Then Tyrone glanced at the newly acquired car and said, "I wouldn't waste any time transferring the title on that junk heap."

Wayne and John exchanged a blank look.

"At the DMV," Tyrone elaborated.

"A heap of junk at the Dee-em-vee?" Wayne asked with a lift of his eyebrow. "Praytell, what is meant by that?"

Tyrone grinned and shook his head. "You guys never quit."

As the Cadillac rumbled off, Wayne remembered something. Returning to the car, he opened the glove box, intending to remove the former owner's pink slip. Signed or not, it was an article of female clothing that could be put to use. To his surprise, the compartment contained only paper.

The mystery of the slip was set aside when T'Mara and T'Naisa came out to inspect the antique vehicle.

T'Mara slowly walked around it, noting the dented fenders, rusty rear bumper, and nearly bald tires. The original driver must have been large indeed, for the entire car sagged toward the driver's seat on faulty shock absorbers.

Looking less than enthusiastic, T'Mara turned to her husband. "A worn-out Falcon station wagon. That's a far cry from our 2018 Camaro."

Wayne's face set into stern lines. "T'Mara, we were given this auto free of charge. I do not think we should complain."

Holding back a smile, T'Naisa said, "Well, I think it has a lot of…personality." She took John's hand. "Don't you?"

"They do say that one's outer appearance gains character with age," John replied. "And we do, indeed, need a form of transportation. Let us hope that this vehicle is capable of providing it."


	6. Discoveries

**Chapter 6: Discoveries**

After dinner, the women were chatting as they cleaned the kitchen. Wayne-Spock was pleased that the two of them were developing a friendship. Since they were both missing children they had left behind, such companionship would be helpful. He thought back to the last dreadful time he and T'Mara were separated from their children. They had been imprisoned by a cruel dictator and subjected to beatings. Worst of all, Wayne had been forcibly injected with the sinister drug _quatene_ , commonly known as Purple Haze due to its color. This had caused an immediate addiction, but he had now been free of the drug for over seven years.

Seated in a living room chair, Wayne glanced over at his twin. What would that other Spock think of him if he knew? Addicts were often looked upon as shameful and weak. He placed a hand to his temple and attempted to clear his mind of those dark memories and lingering temptations. Noticing that John was gazing at him, he dropped his hand to his lap.

"Are you ill?" John asked with concern.

Eyes downcast, Wayne said, "A part of my past troubles me…particularly in times of high stress. I really do not wish to discuss it."

"Understood." Hesitantly John added, "But…I would like to speak to you in private regarding another matter. Perhaps in the bedroom?"

"Of course, John." Wayne stood and allowed his twin to lead the way.

T'Naisa was putting the last dish in the cupboard when she noticed something tucked in a dim corner. Reaching in, she pulled out a weighty little box with two dials on one side. A window on the front featured rows of numbers and a red needle.

She abruptly set it on the counter and backed away.

"What is that?" T'Mara asked, coming to her side.

T'Naisa's heart was pounding. "I don't know. Maybe it's a weapon. Or even a bomb."

Warily T'Mara edged toward the strange device. "What does it mean, AM and FM?"

"And there's a small hole on one side…as if an implement can be inserted there. Perhaps a detonator of some kind?"

Hurrying out of the kitchen, they nervously awaited their husbands' return.

Wayne and John stood face to face by the bed. John had committed himself to a sensitive conversation with his counterpart—this other Spock whom he now called his twin. But the situation made him uncomfortable, for they were not really twins, and there was very little that they actually knew about one another.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he said, "I must admit that I am shaken by our experience at the studio today. A human actor whose appearance is uncannily like ours, whose voice even matches our voice…and whose character even bears our name. And of course those others who so closely mirror my shipmates aboard the _Enterprise_. Even today's story line could have been taken from my past."

"Not only your past," Wayne noted, "but mine also. The idea of having our lives broadcast for all to view is unnerving." He was very much aware of John's eyes on him. "Is that why you needed to speak with me?"

"Not entirely. Mr. Roddenberry also mentioned Sarek...and…since it appears that our pasts are very similar, might I ask if… _our_...father no longer spoke to you after you joined Starfleet?"

"That is indeed the case," Wayne revealed.

John nodded. "Since I became a Yanashite, Sarek and I have been totally estranged. I cannot help but wonder…how Sarek has acted since you embraced Christianity." He cleared his throat. "I have no logical reason in asking this, but..."

"Perhaps a reason deeper than logic, _sa-kai_." Wayne's eyes never left John's face and detected surprise at his choice of words, but he truly felt a deep kinship with this mirror image of himself. "Yes, you are my brother. And so I will tell you that from the beginning, Sarek was not pleased with my choice of bondmate. Since T'Mara was raised human, he believed that her influence would cause my emotions to surface in an unacceptable manner. Though with her usual charm Mother convinced him to come to our wedding, he never truly accepted T'Mara. Then came my life-changing experience of God. When I shared my newfound faith with my parents, mother was understanding, but not Sarek. He considered my commitment to the human Christ disgraceful, and felt that I had shamed both the family and all Vulcans. After my mother passed, Sarek declared me _Vre'kasht_ —outcast—and announced that he would no longer even recognize our children as his grandchildren. Now he only communicates with me for business reasons, and there are few of those." Wayne sighed aloud. "Sarek was correct in one regard. I _have_ become freer in the expression of my emotions, and I do not regret it. I may be my father's son, but I'm not my father. I have learned to speak in a much more caring manner to my own wife and children."

Deep in thought, John nodded. "You have chosen a wise path. Yanash taught that Vulcans should show love to their families. From experience I can tell you that one regrets those opportunities when one might have expressed affection…and did not. Such moments can never be reclaimed."

"And your mother?" Wayne asked. "Is she still living?"

"She also has passed," John replied. "I was fortunate to visit her not long beforehand…and tell her that I loved her. As for my wives, Sarek approved of Lauren even though she was fully human. Lauren was a physician with a rather reserved personality. Though I have never asked Sarek, I am sure that he would not approve of my current wife. He would expect a woman who looks so Vulcan to behave as one. And of course, there is the fact that T'Naisa is also openly Yanashite."

Wayne considered asking what had become of John's first wife. Death? Divorce? But John would have shared the information if he was so inclined. This seemed a good place to end the conversation.

Placing a hand lightly on John's shoulder, he said, "Speaking of wives, perhaps we should rejoin ours."

As Wayne exited the room, he noticed a small closet in the shadows of the hall. Strange that he had not noticed it until now. Curious, he paused to open the door. Inside lay an old wooden acoustic guitar. His lips stirred into a smile as he lifted it out carefully and carried it to the living area. T'Mara was sitting in a chair, and her eyes lit as he placed it into her hands.

"Oh my," she exclaimed, "this is wonderful!" But suddenly she became very serious and set the guitar aside. "We found something, too. Come take a look."

All four went into the kitchen and clustered around T'Naisa's strange little box.

"AM…FM," John read. "Amplitude modulation and frequency modulation."

"Primitive but functional," Wayne remarked. He went on to explain, "The numbers represent channels on the frequency bands." He picked it up and worked the two dials with his thumb. One moved a red needle, and the other produced a clicking sound.

"It is a transistor radio which served as a receiver for certain types of broadcasts," John explained for their wives' benefit. "Unfortunately the batteries are dead and very likely corroded. A most inefficient powering system."

T'Naisa sighed. "Well, this is a day for discoveries. Let's get back to that guitar. I gather T'Mara plays it?"

"You bet I do," T'Mara answered with a smile.

In the living room, she took up the guitar and settled on the sofa with Wayne beside her. She began to strum the strings, then stopped to tune it. She did not have to ask if T'Naisa and John minded hearing some music. They were both clearly interested, so she began to play and sing a humorous song called "It's Not Easy Being Green".

Suddenly she stopped. "This is one that Spock...uh…I mean _Wayne_ has sung."

T'Naisa and John exchanged a startled look.

"True," Wayne conceded, "but only for our children when they were small. Last week our youngest, at the tender age of 6.5 years, informed me that she would rather I not sing such songs anymore, for she has become too mature for them. T'Kera is a high-spirited child who wants to be older than her chronological age. She has always spoken her mind…a bit too freely, at times. " He angled an eyebrow at his wife. "But T'Mara, as there are no children here, another song might be more appropriate." Turning to John, he asked, "I assume that Mother taught you to play the piano, even as she taught me?"

Not _your_ mother, but _Mother._ The difference did not escape John as he answered. "Yes, and Sarek instructed me in the Vulcan lyrette."

T'Naisa proudly added, "He plays the flute, too. And quite well."

"Well, you all are just stuck with me," T'Mara interjected. Fingering the chords, she began to perform an assortment of old classics, ending with a "timely" song by Jim Croce.

 **"If I could save time in a bottle**

 **The first thing that I'd like to do**

 **Is to save every day till eternity passes away**

 **Just to spend them with you…"**

As the final notes faded, T'Mara set the guitar down and Wayne graced her with a short sweet kiss on the lips. Right there in front of everyone.

John cleared his throat and said, "Thank-you, T'Mara. I suggest that we all retire now. Wayne and I need to be at the studio by 8:00 a.m."

"Agreed," Wayne responded.

T'Mara watched John take T'Naisa by the hand and as he whispered into her ear, the halfling's cheeks flushed noticeably. Might those two be in for some romancing of their own?


	7. Doubly Delicious

**Chapter 7: Doubly Delicious**

It was another morning and the Spocks were at the studio. T'Naisa and T'Mara had just finished tidying the apartment, and as usual there was very little else to do.

Standing with hands on her hips, T'Naisa said, "Maybe this stunt business will work out for them, but maybe it won't. I say we bring in some income, too."

"My thoughts exactly," T'Mara concurred. "Back home I was a Starfleet counselor, but I can't work at that profession here. What do you have in mind? The men want us to stay inside as much as possible."

T'Naisa's brown eyes lit with a hint of mischief. "Come downstairs," she said.

There was a stairway that led to the old storefront below. When they reached the bottom floor, she switched on the lights, revealing the dusty remnants of an old café, complete with red upholstered booths, dishes, and glassware. Soon after moving in, all four of them had explored the area, and that was when the idea first came to T'Naisa.

Coughing from the dust, she said, "The other day I asked Tyrone if we could use this ground floor to sell a few items."

"A few items," T'Mara mused, her brows puckering. "We barely have enough for our basic needs. What could we possibly sell?"

A big smile spread across T'Naisa's face. "Hamburgers and French fries."

"Using what, praytell, for supplies?"

T'Naisa found an old sponge and some Mr. Clean over by the sink, and began scrubbing as she talked. "Electricity isn't a problem, since this place is on the same line as our apartment. The only supplies we'll need are poster paper and ink. With that we can make a menu and stick it on the front window during our hours of operation. 'Doubly Delicious Burger Plate'. One choice and that's it. They come in and pay when they order. Then one of us runs out the service door, to that place on the next boulevard. I think it's called 'Bob's'—the one with the big statue of a chubby boy out front. We buy the food to go, rush it back here, and use our own tableware. Of course, we charge a bit more to make a profit. No business license or capital needed."

T'Mara's dark eyes were wide open. "Hey, are you a Philly girl like me? How else could you come up with an idea like that?"

"Philly?" T'Naisa questioned.

"From Philadelphia. The people there are…what one might call…'spirited'."

T'Naisa shrugged. "My Spock would say that I have a devious mind."

"Inspired, you mean. Hold on. I'll go get the broom."

As they cleaned, T'Mara began to hum a favorite song, and before long they were both singing.

Suddenly T'Naisa fell silent. She had tied back her red hair, and her pointed ears showed as she spoke in a serious tone. "We can only do this when the men are at work. If they're home, the sign has to be down."

"You think your husband will disapprove?"

"It's more than that." T'Naisa just stood there for a moment. Then she disclosed, "He worries about me now that…well, we're expecting a baby."

T'Mara laughed out loud. "A baby? That's wonderful! No wonder he's feeling protective. Is it your first?"

Smiling sadly, T'Naisa explained, "My first…and last. You see, I'm what they call a 'sterile hybrid'—like a mule. I was never even supposed to get pregnant."

"Oh my," T'Mara said, and acting rather protective herself, settled T'Naisa into a freshly cleaned booth and sat across from her. "Back home, I have three children…but there should have been more. There was a miscarriage, but the worst was little T'Sheika—born 4.5 months premature." Tears welled and ran down her face. "Doctor McCoy tried; they _all_ did their best to save her. They whisked her away so fast that I never even got to hold her…at least, not while she was alive. But about two years later I was blessed with T'Kera."

T'Naisa reached across the table and grasped her hand. "How terrible for you and Wayne. And here you are, so far away from your children."

Using the back of her free hand, T'Mara wiped her face and sighed. "We've experienced timeshifts before. I don't know why we've been brought here together, but it must be for a reason. Maybe it's like your Spock says—to save our world from coastal calamities when we get back. We just have to keep praying…and trusting that we'll all find our way home again."

By late afternoon, the little restaurant looked respectably hygienic, and its two proprietors were putting the finishing touches on a pair of signs.

 **"DOUBLY DELICIOUS,"** read T'Naisa's creation, with a cartoon burger beneath the artistically scripted letters. **"Two meat patties and all the works, plus fries and beverage of your choice. Served with a Smile. $1.50."**

T'Mara held up her bold poster proudly. **"WOW! GREAT FOOD! GREAT PHILLY ATTITUDE!"**

T'Naisa dissolved in laughter. Yes, one thing they had in abundance was "attitude". And tomorrow they would need it.


	8. On and Off the Set

**Chapter 8: On and Off the Set**

 _Star Trek_ was filming episodes at the rate of approximately one every eight days of production, and now that the show had premiered, it was a challenge to keep even two episodes ahead of the airing schedule. While the situation created tension for the producer and writers, the show's actors were experiencing some pressure of their own as they worked to develop their characters.

The "Brandt twins" only performed their duties intermittently, so they had plenty of time to observe the day to day workings of cast and crew. As much as possible, they offered suggestions to make the series more realistic. This had led to Wayne leaving stunt work and assuming the role of "creative advisor". The change not only increased their income, but also made it possible for Wayne to regrow his customary beard and let his hair lengthen to cover his ear tips. The new look also inspired a future storyline which would feature a bearded, "mirror universe" Vulcan.

Today, as was often the case, they were working in the soundstage that housed the _Enterprise_ bridge and other segments of the ship. Nimoy was deep in character as he approached them during a break.

As dryly as an authentic Vulcan, he said, "I see no logical reason for you to continue withholding the name of your makeup artist." The fact that their ears were better than his had annoyed him since the first day of their association.

Wayne and John exchanged a look. Yes. With Nimoy, it always came down to their ears.

Assuming his role of creative advisor, Wayne patiently told him, "It is indeed regretful that we cannot assist you in that regard, but we have other ideas that might help you add depth to your Spock character. For one thing, you should not shout on the bridge."

"That is not appropriate behavior for a Vulcan," John agreed.

Nimoy's slanted eyebrow rose. "I have not shouted in the last two episodes."

"Excellent; I am only offering a reminder," Wayne replied in a manner meant to soothe the human's underlying emotions. "Here is something else you might try." He demonstrated the splay-fingered Vulcan salute and the words that normally accompanied it.

"That's just like a Jewish blessing!" Nimoy observed, breaking out of character in his excitement. He successfully mimicked the gesture.

Turning to his twin, Wayne extended a pair of fingers which John met in a similar manner. "A sign of intimacy between a bonded man and woman." He then placed his fingers at the juncture of Nimoy's neck and described the Vulcan nerve pinch, which could easily fell an opponent.

Nimoy's yak-hair eyebrow climbed higher. Back in full Spock-mode, he said, "Fascinating. All excellent ideas. You are suggesting that the Vulcans should be a…shall I say…hand-oriented people."

Wayne and Spock shared a glance, raising brows of their own. They had never heard it phrased in just those words, but it was true.

"Hand-oriented," John said. "Yes."

Later, Roddenberry came by the set. Nimoy called the Brandt twins over to the producer and demonstrated Wayne's new ideas.

Roddenberry was pleased, but afterward Wayne sighed and said to John, "Mr. Nimoy called it a 'neck pinch'."

"Indeed," John replied. "It will have to do."

With the workday finished, John tied a "sweatband" around his ears and went out to the Woodie with Wayne, who got behind the wheel. Though John had mastered the intricacies of automobile driving, Wayne had recently acquired a California driver's license thanks to his ear-concealing hair. So it was only logical that Wayne drove while John sat quietly in the passenger seat.

It had been a pleasantly warm summer, but frequent inversion layers were causing the 20th century pollutants to stagnate. Today the air was thick with smog. John's eyes burned as he looked out at the palm trees lining the street, and each breath made his lungs hurt. What must it be doing to T'Naisa? A near-fatal explosion on Vulcan had left her with respiratory weakness, and lately she had developed a chronic cough. He was also concerned about the smog's effect on their unborn child.

They were on the Santa Monica Freeway. Glancing in the rearview mirror, John noticed a young female driving "on their bumper", waving enthusiastically. Fans of _Star Trek_ were starting to mistake him for Leonard Nimoy since he could not wear a concealing goatee like Wayne.

"Enemy cruiser aft," he said.

"Aye, Captain," Wayne replied with a hint of a smile, for he clearly enjoyed the game. "Commencing evasive maneuvers."

Abruptly he shifted lanes, and applying sudden pressure to the gas pedal, sped down an off-ramp. John hung on. With a squeal of balding tires, the Falcon skidded around a corner and headed back to Venice Boulevard. Then, using surface roads, they drove home.

They were nearing their neighborhood when Wayne pulled up in front of a pawn shop, turned off the engine, and asked, "Would you mind waiting here for a moment? I will not be long."

John agreed. They both had some money saved. Perhaps Wayne was purchasing a small gift for his wife. They were clearly devoted to one another.

Five-point-seven minutes later, Wayne returned to the driver's seat and placed two items in John's lap. As John looked at them, he experienced a sinking feeling in the lower right quadrant of his chest. A small folding knife lay atop a much larger case.

"I've noticed how our big kitchen knife…disturbs you," Wayne said, not venturing to ask why. But the question was in his voice, nonetheless.

John attempted to collect himself, with little success. "Has it been so obvious?"

Wayne reached across the bench seat, touched his shoulder, and said, "There's no need for an explanation."

The words, together with Wayne's action, suggested that someone had already divulged the reason for John's pain. He experienced a surge of irritation. "I see that T'Naisa has spoken to you. She so loves to talk."

Wayne withdrew his touch. "No, John. I only thought to be of assistance. It seems to me that you are…somehow burdened."

John's anger subsided. Taking a deep breath, he held the folding knife in the palm of his hand. Haltingly, he explained how his wife Lauren and their young daughter Teresa were stabbed to death by a troubled young Yanashite he had befriended. In their home, using a large kitchen knife.

Wayne was silent.

John opened the case and found a splendid old flute. Finding his voice, he said, "This is much like the one on which Lauren taught me to play."

Wayne sighed. "Brother, I didn't know. I _am_ sorry. Those memories must be very painful." And he continued, "There was a time when I lost T'Mara. It involved a terrible car accident, and her body was thought to have fallen into the ocean. For six years I believed she was dead, when in fact she was only suffering from amnesia. It still troubles me that I accepted the official explanation and never searched for her. But in our case the Lord brought us back together, and for that I am truly grateful."

They had both suffered great loss. John fingered the flute's shiny metal and found the wave of grief passing. His heart warmed at Wayne's thoughtful gesture and the words that accompanied it. _Brother._ Yes, even he sometimes now thought of his counterpart in those terms. If they ever found their way out of this timeshift, he would miss Wayne.

Raising his eyes to him, John smiled slightly and said, "There will be music tonight."


	9. Star Trek

**Chapter 9: Star Trek**

Both Spocks were standing near the front door, waiting for their wives to emerge from the bedroom. T'Mara and T'Naisa had been in a weeklong state of excitement about visiting the studio today.

Now, growing increasingly concerned about the delay, Wayne-Spock walked over and spoke outside the bedroom door. "T'Mara, please. We need to leave immediately. It really does not matter if one hair is out of place."

"Yes...yes, my husband," T'Mara responded. "But we'll be meeting the man who plays _you_...uh…well, _both_ of you."

Wayne could not quite control a stirring of jealousy. "You seem quite taken with Mr. Nimoy since you saw him on Tyrone's television."

There was a sound much like a sigh.

Noticing that John-Spock was now beside him, Wayne faced his brother. "I must apologize for my wife. Perhaps lateness is, as some say, a female trait. Does T'Naisa ever have difficulty being on time?"

"Indeed not," John replied. "With her exuberant nature, she is often ready before me. On occasion she has even called me a…'slow poke'. The fact that she is still in the bedroom can only mean that she is trying to hurry T'Mara along."

Wayne considered. "I find it interesting that we both chose demonstrative wives, but even at moments such as this, I truly have no regrets."

"Nor do I," John admitted. "I cannot envision myself with a pure-blooded Vulcan mate. Someday we must have a private discussion regarding our betrothed, T'Pring."

Just then T'Mara and T'Naisa emerged from the bedroom, aesthetically pleasing in their flowered maxi-skirts. Though John disapproved of caffeine, T'Naisa held a mug of morning coffee in her hand. Now that their income had improved, she openly indulged her unVulcan love of the beverage daily, using an instant product called Nescafe.

Everyone followed Wayne down to the street and entered the rundown Woodie. As usual, the stubborn vehicle failed to start on the first try.

In the front passenger seat, T'Mara glanced over at her husband. "Tyrone told me that the letters in Ford stand for 'Fix or Repair Daily'."

Wayne's attention was locked on the dashboard. "I believe the car was actually named after the man who invented the Model T." He lightly pressed the accelerator pedal.

T'Mara rolled her eyes. "Yes, my husband. I was being sarcastic."

"Yes, my wife," he replied with a hint of a smile. "I was well aware of that fact." He cranked the ignition again, and to everyone's surprise, it started on only the second try.

Soon they were at the studio. T'Naisa had worn her hair in a way that covered her pointed ears, but as always at Desilu, Wayne and John left their "made-up" ears in plain sight. Today Gene Roddenberry was on the set, and after exchanging pleasantries, T'Mara and T'Naisa stood gaping at the fake _Enterprise_ bridge, where a scene was being rehearsed. In person, the actors looked even more like their real counterparts. T'Mara could not help but stare at Nichelle Nichols, for in real life Nyota had become a personal friend.

Wayne snapped her from her thoughts. "T'Mara, come along. We would like to give you both a tour before filming begins."

She eagerly interlocked her arm with his. John and T'Naisa followed along as they left the bridge and visited sickbay, a transporter room, a shipboard cabin, a scaled-down version of a rec room, and a briefing room where cameras were preparing to film the episode's guest stars.

Wayne and John brought them back to the bridge set. There they met William Shatner and George Takei, who portrayed Captain Kirk and Sulu. Next came Nichelle Nichols. When they were introduced to Leonard Nimoy, the wives shared the same amazed expression as they tried hard not to gawk at his fake pointed ears.

As mannerly as the real Spock, the actor said, "It is a pleasure to meet Wayne and John's lovely wives."

"Thank you Mr. Nimoy," T'Mara replied, very much in awe.

"Yes," T'Naisa seconded. "Thank you. It's really interesting to meet the man who...resembles my husband so strongly."

Next, DeForest Kelley and James Doohan met the two mesmerized women. T'Mara found Deforest Kelley quite unsettling, for his mannerisms were so much like the real Doctor McCoy with whom she often had contact. Aside from Leonard Nimoy, T'Naisa was most fascinated by Shatner, for in her timeline an older version of Jim Kirk was a neighbor and friend. No longer a starship captain, but a horse rancher who had sold them the Plum Creek property where she lived with Spock.

Meanwhile, T'Mara turned around and saw Nichelle speaking with her husband. Nichelle glanced her way and their eyes met. As Wayne was called off the set, Nichelle beckoned T'Mara to her side.

Wondering what she might want, T'Mara approached her and said, "Yes, Miss Nichols?"

Nichelle smiled warmly. Leaning close, she whispered, "Oh sister, call me Nichelle. I hope you don't mind me saying that you have one smoking hot man. I just love that devilish beard of his."

"Well, thank you." T'Mara smiled brightly and winked. "But just remember that he's mine."

A man entered the set. Clapping his hands loudly, he said, "Okay, Kirk and Spock to the briefing room. Our guests await. And everyone who doesn't belong, get over to the visitor seating."

T'Mara and T'Naisa followed along, chatting away as they found their seats. Someone came up and informed them that they needed to be quiet now. This presented a problem for T'Naisa, who had been fighting a cough for weeks. Hoping for the best, she took a Smith Brothers cough drop from the small package she had bought for the occasion.

They were filming an episode called "Mudd's Women". T'Mara and T'Naisa closely watched Nimoy interpret the character of Spock as he introduced the ravishing female crew of a stolen cargo ship. With a mischievous hint of a smile Spock leaned against the wall, eyes openly appraising each woman as she passed by.

T'Naisa elbowed T'Mara and whispered, "Do you think our Spocks would really act that way?"

T'Mara leaned over. "Judging from us, they do have an appreciation for attractive women."

They stifled their laughter, but T'Naisa began coughing and received an unappreciative glare from the director.

Finally it was time for lunch. As Nimoy got on a bicycle and rode off, the two real Spocks escorted their ladies to the studio commissary. It was a long walk, but once there, they met up with Tyrone, who introduced T'Mara and T'Naisa to some _Mission: Impossible_ stars.

Back at the _Star Trek_ set, the wives settled down in their seats and attempted to stay quiet as filming continued. T'Naisa was running low on cough drops and feeling unwell when the director yelled, "That's a take! Good work, everyone. Good evening, and see you all first thing in the morning."

Wayne came over with John and informed them that they all needed to exit through the back stage door, adding, "The devotees of the show tend to mistake your husband for Mr. Nimoy. It was the same for me, before I grew back my beard. But if we leave through the rear, we might go unnoticed."

When they arrived at the door in question, John opened it. The men emerged on the lot and found themselves instantly surrounded by a mob of enthusiastic females. John was the main center of attention, with a bevy of twenty-something ladies openly flirting with him, many of whom actually touched his arms or chest.

"Mr. Nimoy, can you sign this?" "Mr. Spock, you're so groovy." "Leonard, is that your brother? He's dreamy, too." Arms tried to intertwine with John's, and a couple of the eager women even started touching Wayne.

Wayne stiffened at the unwanted contact. "Miss, I am not Mr. Nimoy's brother and my companion is not Mr. Nimoy. His name is John Brandt and I am Wayne."

"Ladies, he is correct," John said firmly. "Please step away from me. I am not Leonard Nimoy."

Standing aside, T'Naisa folded her arms across her chest and glared at the overexcited fans fawning over her husband. T'Mara was equally unhappy with the inappropriate attention, but suddenly they heard running feet. Much to their relief, a pair of security men arrived to disperse the crowd.

"Ladies, please! You must leave now…and in an orderly fashion. Please don't force us to call the police."

 _Ladies?_ T'Naisa thought. No lady would behave in such a forward manner. But remembering certain incidents from her own past, when she had openly tried to seduce her then-married commandant, she held her tongue.

The female fans made sounds of disappointment, but all of them cooperated. Now that it was over, T'Naisa strode up to her husband and testily said, "Are you going to tell me you didn't enjoy that? Not even for one second?"

"Enjoy?" John's brow rose into his bangs.

Her hand landed on the side of his cheek in a barely audible slap. "Yes, enjoy. All those young women wanting you."

John suspected that ill health was making her out-of-sorts. Gently taking her by the arm, he said, "I care nothing for those rude strangers. Come. Let us go home so you can rest."

"A wise decision," Wayne agreed.


	10. Problems at Home

**Chapter 10: Problems at Home**

Following their long day on the set, the foursome walked out to the Desilu parking lot and found their car. It was another day of poor air quality. A brown haze hung over Hollywood and the Falcon was not equipped with air conditioning, which might have filtered some of the toxins. By the time they arrived back at the apartment, T'Naisa's cough had worsened and now there were signs of bronchial congestion.

Deeply concerned over her condition, John-Spock urged her to lie down in the bedroom while a quick dinner was prepared. She had barely left when someone knocked on the front door. John slipped his sweatband in place and went to see who was there. Had one of the persistent woman followed their car?

A young couple smiled at him, but instead of requesting an autograph, the woman said, "We missed our Doubly Delicious today. Will the restaurant be open tomorrow?"

Taken aback, John replied, "Madam, you must be confused. I am not affiliated with any restaurant product, either singly or doubly delicious."

The woman frowned. "But it's right downstairs. Two ladies run it. One of them has red hair and…" Seeing T'Mara in the background, she exclaimed, "And there's the other one! Hi, Tamara!"

T'Mara turned toward the door and her face blanched as the couple waved at her. Unseen by the visitors, Wayne-Spock cast his wife an astonished look that held more than a trace of displeasure.

Dealing with his own annoyance, John cleared his throat and said, "You seem to have caught us at an inopportune time. We are in the midst of a serious discussion. If you will kindly excuse us…"

He shut the door and faced T'Mara.

"Discussion…?" she asked in a rather faint voice.

"The one that is about to begin," said her husband quite firmly.

It was two Spocks too many for T'Mara. Feeling weak in the knees, she sank onto the sofa, and the tale spilled out.

Wayne stood over her with his hands on his hips. "A clever scheme, T'Mara…but highly illegal and therefore dangerous. What if charges were brought against you? It would soon become apparent that you are not fully human."

T'Mara's jaw set and she argued back, "You two are working with false Social Security cards. And what about stunt work? It's dangerous, too. You've been lucky so far, but what if John gets cut and someone sees his green blood?"

Though it was a flimsy rebuttal, John said, "My strength and coordination make injury unlikely."

The tension between T'Mara and Wayne showed no sign of abating. Leaving them to their quarrel, John went into the bedroom to determine his own wife's part in the ill-conceived venture.

T'Naisa must have heard their voices. John found her lying flat on her back, tears shining in her guilty eyes as he stood over her.

"How long," he asked, "has this illicit restaurant of yours been in operation?"

"All summer." Pausing to cough, she added, "And don't blame T'Mara; it was entirely my idea."

Somehow that did not surprise John, but he could not bring himself to be severe. T'Naisa looked so ill that he leaned over and pressed his fingertips to her forehead. There was no doubt of it; she was now running a fever.

Getting the purple dashiki from the closet, he sat beside her and said, "Change into this and get under the covers. You must stay in bed until your health improves. And as for the restaurant…"

"We only wanted to help," T'Naisa countered as she sat up and began undressing. "We made a whole jar full of money."

"We are doing well enough without any additional income," John said. "It is not worth the risk of exposure…or the risk to our unborn child."

Suddenly she broke down and sobbed. "I'm going to…to lose this baby…aren't I? Just like T'Mara. Only for me…there won't be any others."

Deeply touched, John gathered her into his arms and held her tightly as he made a long-overdue resolution. Though T'Naisa might not agree with his conclusion, he must do whatever he could to safeguard his bondmate and protect their child. Simply put, they must move to a healthier locale.

"All will be well," he said in a reassuring tone. "Lie down and I'll bring you something to eat."

"You're so good to me," she replied, a bit calmer, "but I'm not hungry."

For T'Naisa to lose her appetite, she was sick indeed. Coughing frequently, she got into the dashiki and John drew the covers over her.

"Perhaps some soup later," he suggested. And kissing her cheek, he left to bring her some water.

Out in the living area, Wayne and T'Mara were embracing. They drew apart.

Apparently they had heard T'Naisa weeping, for Wayne said, "I hope you were not unduly harsh. After all, the restaurant was T'Mara's idea."

John raised an eyebrow as he turned to T'Mara. "A simultaneous inspiration. Most unusual."

Her complexion flushed noticeably.

"In any event," John continued, "T'Naisa will not be joining us for dinner. She is not at all well."

"Perhaps she should enter a healing trance," Wayne suggested.

"Unfortunately she had no early Vulcan training," John explained. "T'Naisa has never been able to achieve a trance state."

The mood was very subdued as they prepared cheese sandwiches and fruit. At the table, T'Mara offered a blessing and a heartfelt prayer for T'Naisa's recovery.

John waited until the meal was almost over before making his announcement. With deep regret he said, "T'Naisa and I will soon be leaving you."

"Leaving!" T'Mara exclaimed.

"Yes. Her lungs cannot withstand this pollution. We will leave the city and go where the air is cleaner."

"And how will you live?" Wayne asked.

"Since I speak three Earth languages, I might be of use as a translator…or play piano, as long I have access to sheet music. And like you, once my hair grows long enough to cover my ears, I can safely have my picture taken for a driver's license and perhaps find work operating a cab…or a bus."

"Lofty pursuits for an astrophysicist," Wayne said wryly.

"An astrophysicist lacking any proof of education," John retorted. "Or do they 'fake' diplomas as well?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," T'Mara said. Suddenly her face lit with determination. "But if you're going, we're all going…and I have an idea. I could look for some of my black ancestors in Philadelphia. I've heard so many stories about Tony and Andrea Washington, that I just know they'd help us get settled there."

The two Spocks beheld her with wonderment.

"Oh," Wayne said, "perhaps you will introduce yourself in this manner. 'Hello, I am T'Mara Victorino, a half-Vulcan from far in the future."

"They will of course accept that," John added, "and welcome all of us into their home."

Wayne met John's gaze and declared, "Trusting fools, I would say."

T'Mara rose from her chair, eyes flashing with anger. "Don't you run down my Philly relatives or I'll start in on yours. _Both_ of yours."

"Which are one in the same," Wayne observed.

Hoping to calm the situation, John stood and said, "I did not mean to denigrate anyone. If you will excuse me, I must go down to Hinkle's and purchase some soup for T'Naisa."

He was starting out the door when T'Mara and Wayne shouted in unison, _"Wait!"_

In his preoccupation, he had forgotten to don his sweatband.


	11. Number Please

**Chapter 11: Number Please**

T'Naisa's fever subsided, but the cough continued to plague her, despite staying indoors as much as possible. Like T'Mara, she was opposed to them splitting up. She also pressed for a move to Philadelphia, as if they had only to contact T'Mara's ancestors and all would be well. But how could one consult distant records in an era before personal computers and net access? The answer came one rainy afternoon when the air was so fresh that T'Naisa accompanied all of them on a drive. Wayne-Spock was behind the wheel, putting his motoring skills to use along Hollywood Boulevard, when a now-familiar landmark loomed into sight.

Seated behind him, John-Spock pointed at the distinctive round building. "Capitol Records! Could that be the nation's center of recordkeeping?"

Wayne wondered why he had not considered it before. They had driven right past the odd structure repeatedly. Turning at the next intersection, he coaxed the recalcitrant Falcon into the parking lot.

T'Naisa insisted on accompanying T'Mara inside. Taking a cough drop, she left the car and they passed through the main entrance together.

"Well, here goes," T'Mara said, heading for a luxuriant reception area. "Did you know that a light atop this building flashes 'Hollywood' in old Morse code? Tyrone told me."

There was no time for T'Naisa to answer as a well-dressed lady looked up from behind a gleaming desk and said, "Yes. May I help you?"

T'Mara had rehearsed her question. "Can you tell me where I might find a listing of Philadelphia residents?"

The lady's face went blank. "Uh. I think you've come to the wrong place."

"But isn't this Capitol Records?" T'Mara gestured toward a prominently displayed logo.

"Yes, Capitol Records." The receptionist smiled in a condescending manner. "But we don't handle _those_ kind of records. You see…"

Soon thereafter, two very subdued halflings returned to the car empty-handed, but wiser.

"Judging by your faces," Wayne said, "I gather that you were not very successful."

T'Mara felt foolish indeed as she described the true nature of the Capitol Records business. In conclusion she said, "The lady suggested that we consult something called a 'long distance telephone operator'."

That evening T'Mara entered a public phone booth near their apartment, armed with paper and pen and a bag of "small change". Tyrone had tutored her on the proper method of "dialing", and Wayne accompanied her into the cramped structure to lend his support.

She was about to initiate the call when she turned to her husband. "As much as you see John as a brother, I see T'Naisa as a sister. Since childhood, I've always wanted one, and I can't bear to part from her now."

Wayne wrapped his strong hands around hers and said, "We will soon see if it is meant to be."

T'Mara turned to the antiquated telephone. Her heart began to pound as she placed her forefinger in the hole with the "0" and spun the dial all the way to its metal stop. Just as Tyrone had explained, the local operator transferred her to the Philadelphia operator.

"What number please," spoke a pleasant female voice.

T'Mara said, "I don't know the number. I'm looking for Tony and Andrea Washington."

"One moment, please." Then, "I have located three Tony and Andrea Washingtons in the city. Do you know which section they live in?"

T'Mara searched the recesses of her mind for every detail her father had shared about the couple. Then it came to her. "Yes…yes. They live in West Philadelphia."

"One moment, please," the operator said again. "The number is 215-555-6868. Would you like me to dial it for you?" T'Mara rapidly copied the number, then gave her consent. The operator continued, "Please insert fifty cents for the first three minutes. You will hear a beep when you need to add more money."

T'Mara put two quarters in the proper slot, and they dropped noisily into the telephone's mechanism. In the earpiece, she heard various strange sounds, then a ringing. Her heart raced faster.

Suddenly a female voice came across the miles. "Hello."

"Hello," T'Mara responded, clutching the receiver with both hands. "This is…T'Mara Brandt. A distant cousin of Tony's, living in Los Angeles. Is this Andrea Washington?"

"Yes it is. Hm…Brandt. A cousin in L.A.?"

T'Mara heard Andrea call Tony over. Then, muffled speech. Suddenly Tony was on the phone. "Hello, Tamara. I remember a cousin Elizabeth that lived in Los Angeles. We lost contact after her husband passed away. Are you her half-sister?"

T'Mara felt a twinge of conscience as she openly lied. "Hello, Tony. Yes...yes, that's me. But let me get to the reason I called. My brother-in-law has a wife with health problems. She's expecting, and this smog has been really hard on her lungs. We'd all like to move out to Philly, but we would need a place to live till we could find jobs and get our own place. I realize you really don't know me, but can you find it in your heart to let us stay a little while? We've got a bit of money put aside—enough to pay for our food. And we can sleep on the floor, it doesn't matter."

"Four of you? Hold on, Tamara. I'll need to clear this with Andrea."

T'Mara peered tensely at Wayne, who gave her a small encouraging smile.

Tony came back on the line. "Okay, cousin. Come as soon as you can. We have a guest room. It will be kinda cramped with the four of you, but I'll set your husbands up with good paying jobs right away."

Jobs? It seemed too good to be true. There was a beep on the phone. As T'Mara was slipping more coins into the slot, a thought struck her. "Tony, please hold on a minute."

"Sure, Tamara."

Once more she faced Wayne, her hand over the mouthpiece. "I think we need to tell him that all of you are...white. We can't arrive and just say 'surprise'. At least not in 1966."

"Yes," he agreed. "You should warn him."

T'Mara raised the receiver to her ear. "Tony? Are you still there?" And she passed on the information.

The phone went silent. Then Tony said, "Cousin, the Lord is colorblind and so are we. Besides, most of my friends and business acquaintances are Italian. Don't worry, Tamara. You'll all be welcome. And I mean it about the jobs; I have connections with a construction boss. He'll hire your husband and his brother, no problem."

Connections _._ Over the years T'Mara had heard a troubling story or two about Tony Washington's business connections, something about the "Mafioso", but now she pushed that thought into a deep corner of her mind. They needed to get out of L.A. and Tony was willing to help them. What could be wrong with construction jobs? Taking a deep breath, she said, "Thanks so much, Tony. We have some loose ends to take care of, but I'll get back in touch before we leave."

"Sounds good, Tamara. See you soon."

She hung the receiver back on its holder and flashed Wayne a victorious smile. After the Doubly Delicious venture she had promised not to keep any secrets from him, but Tony's shady involvements would have to be an exception.

After purchasing a map of the United States from a corner gas station, they entered their quaint apartment and found T'Naisa lying on the sofa with her head in John's lap. John ceased stroking her wavy red hair. Seeing T'Mara's bright face, T'Naisa sat upright. Wayne settled into an adjacent chair, but T'Mara was too excited to sit.

Standing before John and T'Naisa, she announced, "Good news! I succeeded in convincing Tony and Andrea that I'm a distant cousin. I really think God opened their hearts to us. Not only do we have a temporary place to stay, but employment for Wayne and John. Of course, it won't be as glamorous as stunt work or being a creative advisor on a television show."

John leaned forward. "I will consider any legal form of employment."

Legal. Once more T'Mara's conscience stirred. But even if Tony's connections were less than entirely legal, the positions he offered the men seemed lawful. After explaining the arrangements, she sat in the other chair, her eyes hopeful.

John looked from his wife's face, to T'Mara, and back again. The women were smiling at each other and T'Naisa's color had improved from the moment she heard the news. Just the thought of remaining with T'Mara had raised her level of wellbeing. There seemed only one logical decision. Taking hold of T'Naisa's hand, he said, "We will go."

T'Naisa whirled, threw her arms around him, and kissed his mouth exuberantly. And right there in plain view, he kissed her back.

A bit flushed, he disengaged from his wife and turned to Wayne, who was attempting to suppress a smile. John set his mind to the task ahead. He had traveled to many Earth cities, but never Philadelphia. It was a city rich with history. Would it live up to the name's meaning—the "City of Brotherly Love"?

Without preamble he said, "We need to organize—consider what to take with us, repair the Ford as best we can, and procure a current map of the United States."

Wayne pulled the gas station map from his back pocket and held it up for John to see. "Come brother, let us determine the optimal route to Philadelphia."

As the men headed for the kitchen table, T'Naisa rose and beckoned T'Mara into the bedroom. Despite her expanding middle, she got down on her hands and knees, reached under the bed, and brought out a glass jar full of cash earned at their ill-fated restaurant.

"This is going to be useful now," she said. "When it comes time to leave, we can tuck it under the back seat of the car."

Nodding in agreement, T'Mara helped her up.


	12. On the Road

**Chapter 12: On the Road**

The men had finished out their studio jobs and collected their final paychecks. Downstairs, the car was loaded with all their worldly possessions, including the old guitar—a parting gift from Tyrone. They had purchased a set of serviceable used tires. The "spare" was fully inflated and the gas tank was full. The time had come to leave the little apartment that had been their home.

Sporting his sweatband, John-Spock took the driver's seat and Wayne-Spock settled in beside him. They had carefully planned their itinerary and decided that it would be worth the risk for John to share in the driving. By doing so, they could keep moving and thus save money on meals and motel rooms. If stopped by law enforcement, John could present Wayne's license and simply say that he had cut his hair and shaved, which was true.

Within minutes, John had the Woodie sailing down the Ventura Freeway at sixty-five miles per hour. After they successfully changed to the Foothill Freeway, the Los Angeles basin shrank out of sight as they drove up into the hills, still brown from a dry summer. Then, Interstate 15. Little by little the landscape changed until they found themselves in the beautiful Mojave Desert. More miles flew by. At Barstow, John navigated the exchange to Interstate 40. Soon after, they stopped for gas, stretched their legs, and ate the sandwiches and fruit they had prepared the night before. They were "making good time".

When John got back behind the wheel, T'Naisa changed to the front passenger seat. Now that her pregnancy was advancing, she sometimes got sleepy after a meal, so she closed her eyes and let her mind drift. What would they find in Philadelphia? What would life be like there, with the two Spocks working construction jobs? Though Wayne's hair had lengthened, any stiff breeze might reveal his Vulcan ears. John's hair was still short from his stunt work. Even indoors, he would have to wear sweatbands or knitted hats. What would T'Mara's relatives think of that?

Gradually T'Naisa slipped into an unpleasant dream in which she was on an out-of-control amusement park ride.

"T'Naisa," came T'Mara's voice behind her. "Did you hear what I said?"

She opened her eyes in time to see a "Welcome to Arizona" sign flash by. Something seemed wrong. Fighting the cobwebs in her mind, she noticed John's hands tightly gripping the steering wheel…as if he were _angry._ The car seemed to be going too fast. They were speeding past an off-ramp for Lake Havasu City when she remembered. John had lived in nearby Phoenix when his first wife and their daughter were murdered. Was the past returning to haunt him? As the car sped along, there was no room in her heart for jealousy over those old feelings

She gently touched his upper arm and said, "Hey, slow down. We don't want the police chasing us."

His eyes remained riveted on the road ahead.

Wayne leaned forward and took note of the unsteady speedometer needle closing toward eighty. Clearing his throat, he spoke in a commanding voice. "Spock!"

To the relief of everyone present, the car slowed to a safer, more legal speed. A short time later John stopped along the highway and moved into the backseat with his wife. Wayne drove on, and just outside Flagstaff they began seeing signs of jackrabbits. Literally, _signs_.

T'Mara was the first to notice. "Look at that!" she exclaimed, pointing to a little placard bearing a long-eared rabbit with numbers printed underneath.

"A jackrabbit," Wayne remarked, "though it is an ill-conceived name, for Lepus californicus is actually a hare. Its young are born above ground, fully prepared to flee from predators."

"Well," T'Mara said, "hare or no hare, I think they're cute. And there's another one with a different number. What can it mean?"

"I believe they are mileage markers," Wayne decided, "descending in order as we approach the business they are meant to advertise."

Locating the signs became something of a game, for unlike the occasional series of Burma-Shave advertisements, the jackrabbits appeared in ever-increasing regularity and in many strange places, including a mountaintop or two.

At last, as they were approaching Joseph City, a large jackrabbit-bedecked sign read, "Stop and Visit the Jackrabbit Trading Post. Next Exit."

"Mystery solved," Wayne said.

"Oh, let's go see it!" T"Naisa urged from the backseat. "Besides, I'm hungry."

T'Mara seconded the motion, and Wayne headed for the off-ramp.

oooo

Late that same night, Wayne had his window cracked open, allowing the crisp desert air to hit his face as he drove on. He took a quick glance over at the passenger seat. T'Mara's head leaned against the window. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow. Checking his rear view mirror, he saw T'Naisa with her head lying against her husband, looking very content while she slept. Though John's eyes were closed, Wayne suspected that he was only resting and not completely asleep.

He focused once more on the lanes of traffic. Suddenly the Falcon sputtered and began to lose so much power that he barely got it safely to the shoulder. Then the engine stalled, and though he cranked the ignition switch repeatedly, it refused to start.

Alerted to the problem, John leaned forward and asked, "Has the car malfunctioned?"

"Indeed it has. Come. As they say, let us 'check under the hood'." Wayne quietly retrieved a flashlight from the glove box and they both eased out of the car, hoping not to disturb their wives.

In the backseat, T'Naisa rose from her sleep and tapped T'Mara's shoulder. "Are you awake? We've stopped alongside the road. John and Wayne have the hood up." She rolled down the window and heard the men discussing mechanical issues. "They don't seem to know what's wrong."

Yawning, T'Mara watched the men walk to a grassy area beside the highway and debate over what might have caused the problem. She turned around and faced T'Naisa. "Hey, I know a thing or two about these old cars. Want to take a look?"

T'Naisa glanced back over at the men. Their voices were on the rise and she heard John say, "Did I not advise you to have the carburetor checked?"

Wayne folded his arms across his chest. "You are well aware of the prohibitive cost to have the carburetor rebuilt. I fixed what I could and replaced the air filter. When you replaced the worn spark plug wires, am I to assume that you also replaced the plugs?"

John glared at him. "It was only logical to do so."

"Yes, let's give it a try," T'Naisa said, exiting the traffic side of the vehicle. "Those two can be so very…"

"So very human?" T'Mara finished as she joined her. Finding the flashlight on the front fender, she shone it over the antique engine. It did not take her long to notice something amiss. Could it be as simple as a loose sparkplug wire? Reaching over, she secured the part in question.

"That should help," she said. "Let's get back in and give it a try."

A moment later, T'Mara gently pressed the gas pedal and turned the key. The car immediately started and ran as smoothly as could be expected. Wayne and John dropped their discussion and came over to the engine to investigate. After lowering the hood, they entered the Woodie.

As T'Mara scooted over to the passenger side, she placed her hand on Wayne's arm. "So Mr. Fix-It, can you guess who repaired the car?"

"Yes, T'Mara, I have surmised that you and T'Naisa repaired it. And may I ask how you managed that feat?"

Knowing that John had replaced the spark plug wires, T'Mara decided it best to keep quiet. With a wink at T'Naisa she merely said, "Oh, we ladies have to keep a few secrets, don't we?"

Wayne's eyebrow quirked. Grabbing the steering wheel, he released the hand brake and headed back onto Interstate 40.


	13. Truck Stop

**Chapter 13: Truck Stop**

As the old Falcon sped along the highway, darkness gave way to a red-orange dawn and finally a clear blue sky. Everyone agreed that Albuquerque, New Mexico would be an excellent place to fuel up the car and get some nourishment. Before long, Wayne-Spock noticed signs for a mega truck stop that advertised the use of showers, which would be most welcome. There was no way of telling if cars were also permitted, but exiting the highway, he arrived at the truck stop and saw that ordinary vehicles were indeed in abundance. Relieved, he guided the Woodie to a fuel pump. An attendant filled the tank, replenished the fluids, and issued a handful of Blue Chip Stamps upon payment. T'Mara added them to the growing collection in the glove box, which she occasionally licked and pasted into booklets for future "redemption".

After Wayne parked by the travel center, T'Naisa pulled the handy jar of "Doubly Delicious" money from under the back seat and distributed coins for everyone's showers. Gathering a change of clothes, they entered the building and found to their dismay that the shower facilities were far from private and intended solely for male use. All four decided to simply freshen up at the restroom sinks. Breakfast followed, and to their surprise, the food as well as the service was excellent.

"One cannot always judge by outward appearances," John-Spock said as he eyed the reasonable bill. He paid for the meal and Wayne gave the waitress a mathematically precise tip.

As they rose from the booth, T'Naisa and T'Mara voiced a desire to replenish their store of snacks from an adjacent shop. The men agreed, and leaving the two on their own, headed outside. They were standing approximately twenty feet from the entrance when Wayne's eyes wandered over to eight black motorcycles parked in a row. Seeing that they were unoccupied, he slowly walked over to examine the very last bike. John joined him.

"A 1965 Harley Davidson FLH Panhead," Wayne commented as he ran his hand over the leather seat.

John cocked his brow and studied the ascetically pleasing machine. "I am aware that you own a 2018 Camaro. Can it be that you own one of these, as well?"

"Not a Harley Davidson," Wayne replied, "but a 2008 Ducati 848. A gift from T'Mara's cousin."

They both stepped away from the bikes.

"And you ride it?" John asked with a hint of amazement in his voice.

"Yes. In one instance, T'Mara and I rode it through the Sierra foothills, to Lake Tahoe. Viewing the Sierras from that perspective is very different from what one sees in a ground car or skimmer."

"I would never consider such a vehicle," John admitted.

"No, perhaps not at this time. I thought the same when the Ducati was given to me, but I now regret those years when I closed my mind to many new experiences. I am glad most of all that I allowed myself to love T'Mara, and through her influence, came to know God. I would not wish to return to my former state."

John nodded with understanding. "My life has changed greatly since I surrendered my heart to the Shiav…and to T'Naisa. We began our married life with what one might call a "convenient arrangement" for the sake of my youngest son. There was no intimacy. There had always been something in me that resisted intimacy of any kind, and of course I was in mourning for my first wife. But it is different for us now. We married in the Yanashite rite—a true sacramental marriage—less than a year ago."

Wayne's eyes widened in surprise. "Newlyweds."

"Yes, that is the term."

The two men noticed a pair of young, voluptuous women looking their way. Scantily dressed in skintight T-shirts and black leather mini-skirts, the women waved at them. So as not to encourage the bold females, they turn around and faced a billboard on the wall. Apparently their maneuver did not succeed, for the lusty brunette and her fair-haired companion sidled over. Too late, the men attempted an escape, but the persistent pair easily intercepted them.

The shapely brunette's hair hung down to her shoulders as she went to Wayne's side. John found himself in the close company of the blonde, whose curly locks draped in a similar manner.

"Hey," said the brunette, "you both seem familiar—like I've seen you on TV or something."

Wayne glanced at his brother. "No...you must be mistaken. We may have features that resemble someone you have seen on television, but I assure you, neither of us are actors."

John said, "Actually, we are on our way to construction jobs."

The brunette's face lit with deepening interest. "Oh wow, boomers!" Stepping even closer, she began to stroke Wayne's upper arm. "I'm Trixie and this is my friend, Roxie. Like to have some fun? We can go in the woods right behind this center. You know, smoke a couple of joints and let the games begin."

Roxie attempted to caress John's chest, but he shrugged away from the contact.

Wayne raised his left hand, allowing the women to see his wedding band. "I'm sorry, but we will not be joining you. We are both married men."

Roxie looked at John's fingers. "Married? I don't see any ring on you, honey."

"Such rings are not customary in my culture," John explained. "And as our wives will soon be exiting the store, I suggest you move on."

"Aw...loosen up," Roxie wheedled, "don't be a couple of squares."

"We cannot possibly be geometric figures," John responded.

Wayne signaled to John. They were walking away from the women when two burley men darted right in front of them. Three other men wearing motorcycle jackets also sprinted toward them, but stopped a short distance away.

"Hey!" barked one of the massive, bearded fellows in their path. "Leave our chicks alone!"

Meanwhile, in the truck stop center, T'Naisa became fascinated by a peculiar machine sitting against a wall. "T'Mara, come look at this. It has flat plastic disks inside, like that one the receptionist showed us at the Capitol Records building." Words were printed on the top edge of the machine. "Multi-horn…high fidelity? I don't see any horns."

T'Mara came over and peered through the glass top at multiple rows of labels. "Neither do I, but I think this machine plays music. My father got me interested in old songs, and I actually recognize some of these choices."

T'Naisa found a coin slot and pointed to it. "Look, T'Mara, if we put in a quarter it will play five selections."

"Yes, but the men are waiting."

T'Naisa put her hands on her hips and gave her a persuasive smile. "Oh, come on. They're probably discussing some 'fascinating' natural phenomenon or sharing all the past experiences that they have in common. The other night I overheard them talking about T'Pring. They know where we are. Let's have a little fun."

T'Mara hesitated. Then relenting, she pulled a quarter out of her pocket and placed it into the slot. "Now we'll pick our songs. You go first."

T'Naisa studied the titles and was intrigued by "Rock Around the Clock". Pushing the appropriate button, she wondered aloud, "Perhaps they are rearranging furniture—moving a very large old clock might require some rocking motion."

After completing their selections, they watched the machine operate. T'Naisa was amazed by the ancient apparatus. "Look, T'Mara! That mechanical arm lifts out a disc and places it down."

Wide-eyed, T'Mara watched a second arm as it dropped to the disc, which began spinning. Sudden music blared, **"One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock rock…!"**

Outside, Wayne and John had come to realize that "chicks" were something quite different from young Gallus domesticus egg layers. Now two jealous bike owners stood in their personal space.

Not allowing himself to be intimidated, John said, "Sirs, we had no intention of…interacting with your…lady friends."

"Yes," Wayne firmly seconded. "They came up to us and began conversing. We are married men and have no interest in seeking a relationship with other women."

"Being married never seems to stop _other_ guys," the taller man said, nose to nose with Wayne. "Especially with the likes of our women."

"It is most unfortunate," Wayne ventured to say, "that your women are…of that sort. But we did not encourage them. To the contrary…"

Trixie stepped to the man's side and pointed straight at Wayne. "Hey, he tried to kiss me!"

"Her statement is not accurate," Wayne quickly declared, backing away from the aggressive "biker". "I did not attempt to kiss the young lady."

"Are you calling my old lady a liar?!" The brute took another step closer.

Wayne's brow rose under his shaggy bangs. _Old_ lady? That seemed rather far from the truth. "No, sir. I am only contending that I did not make any untoward advances."

The large words had the desired effect of confusing the angry man. Meanwhile, the other biker—a large, lumbering fellow—stepped toward John and shoved him, saying, "Stay away from my Roxie!" His huge hands clenched into fists.

"Sir, that has been my intention from the beginning," John asserted.

Wayne grew concerned for his twin's safety and glanced toward him. At that instant, a set of knuckles impacted his own cheekbone. The blow set Wayne back a step. John moved to assist him, but was immediately seized by onrushing bikers.

Now Wayne was, to all purposes, alone. The fact that he did not immediately react seemed to infuriate his attacker, who launched a second punch. But this time Wayne easily blocked the fist.

There was a sound of sirens, getting louder and nearer.

Wayne's assailant growled, "Someone called the fuzz! Come on, let's split!"

The unpleasant group scurried to their motorcycles and thundered off with two police squad cars in pursuit.

Wayne and John heaved a tandem sigh of relief. The bikers were carrying knives and chains that could have inflicted serious injury.

Fingering the throbbing area below his eye, Wayne said, "I suggest we find our loitering wives and, as they say, 'hit the road' before a policeman decides to return and question us."

Over the sound of the juke box, T'Mara and T'Naisa had heard sirens and decided to leave the building. The men were walking back toward the entrance when their wives exited the shop, each carrying a small bag of purchases. T'Mara quickly noticed the bruise forming around Wayne's left eye. As they headed back to the Woodie, Wayne and John shared the tale of two biker females and their jealous men.

John took over the driving duties.

He was maneuvering the squeaky wagon onto Highway 40 when T'Mara said, "Well, I'm glad to get away from that 'joint'."

Her use of vernacular led to an interesting discussion of another slang meaning of "joint". Wayne had first heard the word during a previous timeshift with T'Mara. He shared a peculiar tale about accidentally inhaling marijuana smoke while seated on the doorstep of a tenement building.

T'Naisa glanced over at John and admitted, "I smoked a little when I was at Starfleet Academy. Needless to say, my commandant was not pleased when I showed up intoxicated at an assembly and danced for him on the stage."

"In a most provocative manner that involved some…unveiling," John added, the corners of his mouth twitching. "And so ended your brief Starfleet career."

"It was your birthday," T'Naisa said with a smirk of her own. "The look on your face was priceless."

"You always worked hard to gain my attention," John wryly observed. "At times you seemed quite set on making me your…captive…audience."

At that mysterious reference, T'Naisa sobered and fell silent, leaving Wayne and T'Mara wondering.


	14. Texas

**Chapter 14: Texas**

The miles sped by and all seem well as they passed a sign welcoming them to Texas.

Then, BANG! John-Spock's hands tightened on the steering wheel and the Woodie began to fishtail. As smoothly as a professional driver, he maintained control of the car and eased it over to the shoulder.

"What happened?" T'Naisa exclaimed beside him.

Wayne-Spock provided the answer. "A tire must have encountered a sharp object such as a nail, which caused an explosive loss of air pressure."

Moments later, the two women sat on a guardrail watching their men replace the ruined tire. T'Mara wondered aloud if the trip was becoming too stressful for her pregnant friend, but T'Naisa assured her that she and her baby girl were fine.

T'Naisa patted her bulging waist. "She's been quite active lately. Go ahead, feel her."

T'Mara accepted the invitation and detected a hearty kick. Smiling, she said, "Our T'Kera was energetic, even more so than T'Sain or Soron. Perhaps that explains her high-spiritedness. She tends to test her father." Seeing Wayne place the spare on the wheel axle, she asked, "Have you picked out a name yet?"

T'Naisa laughed. "A name? I've picked out a hundred names. Today it's Celeste."

"That's beautiful," T'Mara said.

They stood as John tightened the last lug nut. Wayne lowered the car and removed the jack. Finding a towel, the men wiped their hands. Then they were back on the highway, heading toward Oklahoma City.

It was almost noon when T'Naisa noticed billboards advertising a café that laid claim to the best chili in the state. "Oh, can we stop there to eat?" she asked. "April and I are hungry."

From the backseat, T'Mara remarked, "I thought her name was Celeste."

"It changes by the hour," John explained. He, too, felt the need for a meal. But as he steered the car down an off-ramp, he wondered, "Do you think chili is a wise choice, T'Naisa? It might be too spicy in your condition."

"I can live with a little heartburn," she said confidently. "On the space station where I grew up, my dad made great big pots of chili."

After briefly detouring to buy a replacement tire, they arrived at the rustic café and were seated in a booth. A friendly waitress placed glasses of water on the table and distributed menus. T'Naisa's eyes widened at the range of choices. Though she had been thinking of chili, her attention was drawn to a pulled brisket sandwich smothered in the restaurant's special hot barbecue sauce. She was so hungry for meat.

Soon everyone had a meal in front of them. John observed that T'Mara's choice of salad contained shrimp. It was the first time he had seen her consume any form of animal flesh.

Noting his twin's interest, Wayne explained. "T'Mara's human father was a vegetarian like her deceased Vulcan mother, and he chose to raise her in that manner, but recently we agreed not to be so strictly bound by the old ways. Neither of us eats meat or poultry, but I have also, on occasion, eaten shellfish."

John nodded. "Interesting. T'Naisa was raised human and grew up eating meat. Yanash himself ate animal flesh when he was with the Golhenis on Vulcan, so it is clearly permissible, but meat does not appeal to me."

After eating their fill, they headed back to the Woodie. John remained behind the wheel with T'Naisa at his side. It was late afternoon when they reached yet another state border.

Suddenly T'Naisa felt her uterus tightening and placed a hand on the area. Such contractions were normal at this stage of pregnancy, so she attempted to relax. But this time the uncomfortable feeling soon returned. And then again.

A little frightened, she reached out and nudged John. "Something's wrong. I'm having too many contractions."

Concern crossed his face.

Overhearing, T'Mara leaned forward. "Oh, you're probably just fine. I had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions during my pregnancies."

"Really, T'Mara?" But another wave of tension was already building in T'Naisa's abdomen. Now there was pain in her back, too. Trying not to panic, she said, "Can't we pull over?"

John drove off the next exit ramp, into a gas station, and parked off to the side.

T'Naisa lowered her head and moaned, "This is the stage of pregnancy when T'Mara lost _her_ little girl. I just can't lose this baby…I _can't!"_

Having never been present at a birth, John was unsure if she was experiencing true labor. Holding her hand, he said, "Perhaps if you try harder to relax."

T'Mara exited the car, and opening T'Naisa's door, hunkered down and grasped her other hand. Wayne got out and stood beside his wife.

Choking back tears, T'Naisa wailed, "How can I relax? This baby's not ready to be born…and certainly not…not in this stinky old car!"

T'Mara had to laugh. Seeing the wounded look on her friend's face, she quickly explained, "Oh, I'm not laughing at you. It's just that our youngest was born in the back of our Camaro."

John leaned over and looked up at Wayne. "Is there anything you do not do in the backseat of your Camaro?"

Wayne gave his wife a rather sheepish look. "I…mentioned to John…how our son was conceived in the backseat." His face blushed a shade of green that nearly matched his bruise. "By that, I mean the fact that he _was_ conceived there, not by what means. As for our youngest, I was indeed blessed with the opportunity to bring T'Kera into the world. It was…a most eventful day."

Calming a bit, T'Naisa said, "But T'Kera was full term, wasn't she?"

T'Mara squeezed her hand. "Come on, think positive and breathe slowly. We are all praying for you."

John put his fingertips to T'Naisa's temple and used a Vulcan technique that helped her relax deeply. When twenty minutes passed without any further contractions, he withdrew his hand and she smiled at everyone.

Relieved, John said, "Perhaps it was only the hot sauce. T'Naisa, I suggest that you refrain from heavily spiced food until our daughter is safely in our arms. In fact, you may consider that an order."

"Yes, my commandant," she said, and gently kissed his lips.

Wayne spoke from beside the car. "John, would you like me to drive now?"

John gave T'Naisa's wavy red hair a caress and moved back behind the wheel. "Thank you, but I'll drive until we finish navigating the interchanges in Oklahoma City. I believe that is where we turn onto Interstate 44."

As Wayne and T'Mara returned to the backseat, John asked T'Naisa for the United States map. It came out of the glove box in a rather rumpled condition, but John opened its many folds, smoothed the paper, and soon found the area in question.

"Ah," he said, "just as I thought."

Then it was time to refold the map and he was determined to leave it in a better condition than he had found it. As he recalled, T'Mara had last perused it, searching for "rest stop" symbols along the way. Now he positioned the map so that north was upward, then studied the horizontal and vertical creases. But the map's original bends were now rather indistinct due to poor handling. Settling on the most likely lay of the folds, he began drawing the rectangular sections atop one another in an orderly manner, but soon realized that something was amiss. The creases refused to cooperate, creating even more unsightly wrinkles in the once pristine map.

John stopped and began over. Using a different strategy, he folded…then refolded…then refolded yet again. Laughter erupted in the backseat and T'Naisa was trying her best not to join in.

"Give it up," she finally whispered.

Seeing the logic in her words, he shoved the disorderly wad of paper back into the glove box, started the old car, and sent it cruising down the road.


	15. Embarrassing Mishaps

**Chapter 15: Embarrassing Mishaps**

Missouri and Illinois were only a memory. After stopping at a diner for breakfast, they were on the road yet again, nearing the eastern border of Indiana. Budget "short stacks" of pancakes and "sides" of eggs sat comfortably in everyone's stomachs, and it was becoming harder and harder to get back in that car. Even Wayne-Spock and John-Spock were road weary. As the self-appointed drivers, they were in need of some quality rest, but resisted the idea of spending money on a motel. Frugality and stubbornness were well-known Vulcan traits.

All through the day, Wayne stayed behind the wheel. After dinner, it should have been John's turn, but Wayne had ordered a serving of T'Naisa's favorite beverage—strong coffee with cream and a bit of sugar for sweetening.

"I am quite alert," he said, coming out of the restaurant in the dark. "Another hour or so and we can switch driving duties."

The next time he checked the rear view mirror, John's head was lolling to one side and T'Naisa was just as oblivious.

They were passing through Ohio on Interstate 70 when T'Mara spoke softly beside him. "Shouldn't you let John drive now?"

"Hmm?" Wayne was watching the steady line of headlights coming toward them.

Feeling drowsy herself, T'Mara barely found the energy to repeat her question. "Angel, it's John's turn. Isn't it?"

Wayne drew a deep breath. As the striping on the road sped by, the oncoming headlights seemed to elongate and run together. "I…see no need to wake him. As a Vulcan, I…I am quite capable of…" His voice trailed off.

"I am _so_ ready for a good night's sleep," T'Mara sighed, her eyes closing.

Wayne was silent for a long while. Then he mumbled to his absent son, "Soron. Are you not in bed yet…?"

His eyes were shut, too.

A burst of blaring car horns snapped Wayne back to consciousness. T'Mara was screaming. T'Naisa was shrieking. For an instant he did not know where he was. Then sorting through the mist of confusion, he grabbed the steering wheel in front of him. The Woodie had drifted onto the shoulder of the highway, and its entire right side began to scrape against a metal guard rail. Sparks flew wildly.

Wayne veered back into traffic, received another spate of honks, and sailed straight down an exit ramp at a high rate of speed.

A stop sign loomed into view. Wayne brought his foot down hard on the brake pedal, or what should have been the brake. Somehow he had misjudged, for his foot landed on the accelerator instead. Before he could correct his error, the car swept past the red octangular sign and straight through the opposing traffic which was mercifully light. They were entering a parking lot at 53 miles per hour.

His heart racing, he at last found the brake. The Woodie skidded and fishtailed. Wayne jerked the wheel to avoid another car and they squealed to a stop inches from the blinking Snooze Shack motel sign. The driver of the other vehicle cursed fluently before leaving the scene. For a moment everyone just sat in stunned silence as steam rose from the radiator.

Then, with trembling hands, Wayne eased the car into a parking space and said, "Perhaps we _would_ all benefit from a night off the road."

In the backseat, John tartly declared, "I the hell fully agree."

oooo

A crisp morning dawned, and they were in no hurry to leave the Snooze Shack. Last night, all four weary travelers had enjoyed overdue showers, and they were looking forward to another. As T'Naisa succinctly put it, "We've paid for this motel and we might as well get our money's worth."

While John rose and headed to the bathroom, Wayne glanced over from the next bed and saw that T'Naisa had drifted back to sleep in hers. Though the beds were of an outmoded size called "double", they allowed very little space for two occupants to maneuver without a great deal of mingling at the center. Now that Wayne and his wife were awake, their mingling began to involve playful behavior of a rather intimate nature. T'Mara gave a little giggle, for now he was under the covers and his beard tickled.

Wayne surfaced quickly as John exited the bathroom. With little else to do, he got out of bed and took a turn in the shower. As he came out, fully dressed, T'Mara sat up and said, "I guess I'll go next."

John was settled in a chair, deeply absorbed in a newspaper while T'Naisa continued to rest.

Donning his jacket, Wayne stepped outside for some fresh air. As he walked the area, hands in his pockets, a motel door opened on the other side of the parking lot. A young couple emerged, turned to one another, and engaged in a deep, lingering kiss.

The sensual thoughts that Wayne was so carefully regulating suddenly took on new life. An ingenious idea came to him. With T'Mara in the shower, he could easily…

As quickly as the thought formed, he was back inside, heading for the bathroom with its unreliable lock. John was still reading the newspaper and the shower could be heard running.

Wayne put his hand on the doorknob. It turned. The room was steamy as he rapidly shed both his outerwear and underwear. With an anticipatory smile, he drew back the shower curtain.

There before him stood a bare pregnant woman.

T'Naisa's mouth fell open. Her wide eyes swept over him once, from head to toe, pausing at the critical area to which his hands had flown. He could not fault her; his own eyes had performed a sweep of their own before he brought them under taut control.

His cheeks were turning a deep olive green when she snapped the curtain shut. "I…I am sorry." he stammered, snatching his clothes from the floor and hurriedly dressing. "I thought you were…T'Mara said…truly, I…"

T'Naisa's voice was strained. "You really intended to…right here…with us in the next room." Then she burst out laughing.

Deeply shaken by the experience, Wayne quickly exited the scene carrying his jacket. John was still absorbed in the ancient news. T'Mara was in the kitchenette making tea. _Why had he not noticed her before?_

Setting his jacket aside, Wayne came up behind his wife and spoke quietly into her ear.

"You _what!"_ T'Mara swung around and stared at him.

Over in the chair, John lowered the newspaper and looked their way, one eyebrow raised. Then T'Mara started laughing so intensely that tears streamed down her face.

Annoyed, Wayne turned to his curious twin and said, "You may as well join in the general amusement…"

As the mishap was told, John's eyes began to glimmer. Then abruptly rising, he headed to the bathroom. Warm steam drifted in the air as he poked his head inside. T'Naisa stood wrapped in a white motel towel, her hair dripping, a disconcerted look on her lovely face.

"Oh," she said in relief, "it's you. Unless you're really Wayne and you just shaved to fool me."

"I will show you who I am," John said, his mouth curved mischievously.

Closing the door behind him, he went over to his wife, placed one arm around her lower back, and drew her as close as her condition permitted. Gazing into her brown eyes, he snared one feminine hand in his, raised it to shoulder level, and began the intimate fingering that was part of the Vulcan sexual experience.

Feeling the stimulating contact deep in his bonding center, he softly said, "Have you ever seen my libidinous twin do this?"

"Never," she sighed, melting against him.

Continuing the attention, he whispered, "Neither of them will dare enter this room."

"I suppose not," she agreed.

He did not need to ask if she was willing. Bending to kiss her mouth, he reached over to the sink and turned on the water.

Half an hour later they exited the bathroom and T'Mara finally had her chance in the shower. Settling into a chair, T'Naisa wore a secretive smile as John made her a cup of instant coffee, but clearly Wayne was still uncomfortable with the situation—so uncomfortable that he rose from his chair, donned his jacket, and went out to purchase their breakfast from a nearby market called Piggly Wiggly.


	16. Philadelphia

**Chapter 16: Philadelphia**

After a long day's drive, it was getting dark and everyone was hungry. T'Mara sighed in relief when she saw a "Welcome to Philadelphia" sign with the words "City of Brotherly Love" on the bottom. Soon Wayne-Spock was steering the Woodie down a narrow residential street. Each red brick home was attached to the other by common sidewalls. They all had small porches with awnings and upper floors with bay windows.

T'Mara kept her focus on the house addresses. Suddenly she saw it. "There it is! 1010 West Frazier. That's Tony and Andrea's home."

He pulled alongside a Buick Riviera in preparation to enter the curbside space directly behind it. Though it seemed to T'Mara that there was not nearly enough room, Wayne expertly maneuvered the old car into place. Sighing, she smiled nervously at the passengers in the back seat. "Well, everyone, are you ready to meet my 'cousins'?"

"Ready," T'Naisa said, flinging her door open.

T'Mara led the way up to a lighted porch. Gathering her courage, she pressed the doorbell button and heard it chime inside the house.

A brown-skinned man cracked the door open, and seeing T'Mara and her companions, swung it wide. "Right on time, Tamara! You really do resemble Cousin Elizabeth." Smiling warmly, he waved them all inside. "Come in, come in."

T'Mara and Wayne entered the comfortably furnished home, followed by T'Naisa and John-Spock. Tony eyed John's sweatband and then looked in amazement between the two men. "Well, I'll be. Twins! So which one of you is married to my cousin?"

Wayne stepped forward. "I am her husband, Wayne. And this is my brother John and his wife, T'Naisa."

Tony shook hands with both men and gave T'Naisa a friendly nod. "Come and sit down," he said. "I'll go get my wife out of the kitchen."

Left to themselves, Wayne and T'Mara chose the love seat, while John and T'Naisa settled on the sofa. A delicious aroma of cooking filled the house. In a moment Tony returned with a lovely, dark-complected woman sporting a short "afro".

"My wife Andrea," Tony said.

Everyone stood for a new round of introductions. Andrea warmly embraced T'Mara and urged them all to feel at home. Once they were seated again, she noticed that T'Naisa was expecting.

"Oh, honey child," she said, "is it your first?"

"Yes, it is," T'Naisa replied with a smile.

"Isn't that wonderful! You're carrying high, so I bet you'll have a girl."

The remark caught T'Naisa by surprise. "Yes...yes that's what…" She stopped short, realizing that she had almost shared too much. At this point in history they did not have advanced genetic scanning, or even ultrasound imaging. "Uh…my obstetrician also predicts a girl."

Tony spoke up. "Tamara, you don't have any children?"

"Uh...actually, we have three." It would have been better not to admit it, but T'Mara did not want to lie. Now what was she going to say? In the 23rd century, two of her children were living right here in Philadelphia. "Our…our oldest daughter is married and…and on her own. Our son is…off at a university." Now for the hardest one. "And then...there's our youngest, T'Kera, who's…staying with her grandmother for now." She could only hope that was true. With all her heart, she hoped that T'Kera was safe with her step-grandmother, T'Sora.

Andrea looked from Wayne to T'Mara. "My goodness, you hardly seem old enough to have grown children. If you don't mind me asking…have the two of you encountered much prejudice? But I guess L.A. is more open-minded about mixed marriages than some parts of the country."

"Indeed," Wayne said, "some environments are more welcoming than others." Wishing to steer the conversation elsewhere, he asked, "Andrea…Tony, do you have children?"

Andrea's smile faded. Her voice wavered as she said, "We had one child…one beautiful child. He was murdered six months ago. Shot down...right on the street in front of our house." She breathed in deeply. "He was coming home from visiting his friends...he was just ten." Tears welled in her eyes. Tony rose, and going over to her chair, touched her shoulder.

T'Naisa glanced at John. Would he share something of his own loss with these strangers?

Suddenly he cleared his throat and said, "I offer my condolences. My first wife…and our young daughter…were also victims of a violent crime."

"Then you understand," Tony said sadly.

T'Mara was struggling with a fresh stab of apprehension. Tony's child murdered, right here in the street. Was the boy gunned down because of Mafia ties? Swallowing hard, she said, "Oh Tony...Andrea, I'm so sorry about your son. How painful to lose a child."

Andrea sighed. "Honey, we depend on the Lord just to get through each day. But let's not dwell on it now. You must have had some adventures on your trip, and I'd love to hear about them. Come on, dinner's ready. We can talk at the table."

There was ham, scalloped potatoes, vegetables, and rolls. But it soon became apparent that T'Naisa was the only guest eating meat.

Andrea studied the others. "Oh dear, don't the rest of y'all like ham?"

T'Naisa swallowed a honey-glazed mouthful and answered for them. "Believe me, the ham is delicious. But they're all vegetarians."

Andrea laughed. "Vege-what? You mean you folks don't eat any sort of meat? How in the world do you get along like that?"

"Quite well, in fact," John replied, having devoured two helpings of the vegetable dishes and three buttered rolls.

T'Mara was quick to explain, "We won't be any trouble. Just fix meat for you and Tony and T'Naisa. We'll add enough vegetarian fare for our needs."

Not long after dinner, Andrea showed them to the guest room. Tony had already pushed a second, smaller bed against a wall. "Things will be tight in here," she said, "but feel free to move around the house and if you need to eat, just fix whatever you want. Tamara, I know you offered to pay for your food. Right now don't worry about it. Tomorrow Tony will take the men to meet Frank about those construction jobs. Goodnight, all."

The door closed behind her.

Wayne looked at John. "You and T'Naisa take the large bed. She needs a comfortable place to sleep."

"Most kind of you," John replied.

After a period of conversation, they took turns changing in the hall bathroom. Soon they were all settled in their beds. Thankful for the generosity of their hosts, they fell asleep.

THUD!

T'Naisa awoke with a start and groggily asked, "What was that noise?"

John sat up beside her.

T'Mara awakened and found her husband in the shadows, face down on the rug. "Angel!" she cried out. "Are you alright?"

Wayne rolled over, and sitting up, rubbed an area on his forehead. Feeling a bit foolish, he admitted, "Apparently I...turned over in my sleep and misjudged the size of the bed. Please forgive me if I startled anyone."

T'Naisa burst out laughing, and she could easily visualize John cocking a brow. But the humor subsided as Wayne got himself back into bed. Everyone was almost asleep when she spoke again. "T'Mara, maybe you should put 'Angel' against the wall. Or would you rather have me tuck him in?"

John gave her a nudge. There was fresh eruption of female snickering, and then all was silent.


	17. A New Boss

**Chapter 17: A New Boss**

In the morning, T'Naisa and T'Mara awoke well-rested. There were no flashing neon signs on West Frazier Street, and except for a couple of sirens, the night had been quiet. Finding themselves alone, they put on their robes and headed downstairs in search of their husbands. They heard muffled voices just beyond the front door, and opening it, found Wayne-Spock and John-Spock standing on the porch, hands deep in their coat pockets.

"It's cold out here," T'Mara said as she joined Wayne.

"But private," Wayne replied. "We were just analyzing our situation…and sharing our hopes for returning to our own timelines."

"Yes, home..." T'Mara said sadly. "Oh, I miss our children so much."

Wayne took her hand into his.

Beside him, John spoke in a quiet voice. "My older children can manage on their own, but not James. He is only fourteen. There is so much I had yet to teach him."

T'Naisa slipped an arm around his waist and he returned the attention. Softly she said, "We'll get back where we belong. Won't we?"

No one ventured a reply while the two couples stood watching the sun rise. As it peeked between the buildings across the street, they went inside. An aroma of breakfast filled the house.

"Come and get it," Tony announced. "Breakfast is ready. And there are plenty of meatless selections. "

Everyone settled around the table. Noting the wide array of food choices, Wayne said, "This is considerably more than you needed to prepare for us."

"Oh, we enjoy sharing," Andrea assured him. "Having you here is a blessing. Since our son's death...we haven't had much of a reason to celebrate." She looked over at her husband. "Tony, can you please lead us in grace?"

After a brief blessing, Tony began eating with a hearty appetite. "Well, men, after breakfast I'm taking you to meet Frank Bruno. He's the boss at that building site I told Tamara about."

Wayne said, "I hope you realize that John and I have very limited experience in the field of construction."

"Don't worry, boys. Frank owes me a favor. He'll hire you, no questions asked."

"This is, of course, legitimate employment?" John ventured to ask. Obtaining work as a personal favor seemed rather unusual, especially considering their lack of expertise.

Seeing John's concern, Tony replied, "Oh sure, it's all on the up and up. You'll be on the regular payroll. Not a thing to worry about, and let me tell you…these are _good_ paying jobs. You gotta think of that kid of yours, John." Tony reached over and poked him on the shoulder.

"Good paying jobs," Wayne mused. "Don't entry level jobs normally pay low wages?"

Tony chuckled. "It all depends. Hey, yous look like a couple of strong fellas. Not to worry. Frank will see that and pay accordingly."

Wayne and John had no choice but to accept their host's explanation. They went upstairs to change into clothing more suitable for a job interview. T'Mara and T'Naisa were exiting the kitchen when they heard the men coming down the staircase. Both looked handsome in their secondhand suits, complete with twentieth century ties.

Tony saw them and began to laugh. "No...oh no."

John shared an uneasy glance with Wayne. They had known that John's sweatband would clash with such formal wear. But John dared not remove it.

Seeing their discomfort, Tony smiled at them. "I'm sorry. It's just that you're so overdressed. Yous all look like the fuzz. Want to make Frank nervous?"

"Yes, they could be mistaken for a certain type of police," T'Mara quickly translated.

"Ah…" John said, relieved that his sweatband did not pose a problem. But why would police officers make Frank nervous? "Yes, in that case we will wear something more…casual."

They were soon riding with their host in his plush Rivera. Tony talked as he drove down Market Street. "I'm glad we left before rush hour. But this is nothing compared to L.A. traffic. Right?"

"Indeed," remarked Wayne from the front passenger seat. "At this point in time, the population of Los Angeles is approximately 2.5 million, and much greater when one includes the adjoining metropolis areas. There is scarcely a household that does not have at least one automobile"

"Is that so?" Tony kept his eyes on the road. "Well, you haven't had a taste of the Sure Kill Expressway."

Wayne attempted to decipher the meaning of "taste" in that context. "If I understand you correctly, then no. But the name itself is not comforting."

Tony laughed. "That's the nickname of the Schuykill Expressway."

"Ah…yes," Wayne said with a nod. "I saw signs referring to that expressway"

"Most of that road is known as 'merge or die'. But don't worry, we won't be heading out there today." With a turn of the steering wheel, Tony drove into a work site and parked.

The two Spocks followed Tony out of the car and walked over the dirt to a makeshift trailer. Tony went up the trailer's steps and knocked on a metal door. A man with smooth dark hair opened the door.

"Yo Tony," the stranger said, "good to see you."

"Yo Frank, same here. These are the Brandt brothers I told yous about. Wayne and John."

Frank Bruno waved them into the small office and shook hands before giving the newcomers a visual inspection. "Hm, you two look a little green in the face. Any health problems? Can you handle physical labor? Carry heavy loads?"

"I assure you, we are in excellent health," Wayne responded.

"And capable of carrying precisely 2.715 times our weight," John added with assurance.

Frank's mouth twitched. "You guys are self-confident. I like that, but I'll be honest with you. Out of thirty men, yous two will be the only white workers here. Most are black, but there's a few Puerto Ricans. Most of 'em won't be happy showing inexperienced white guys the ropes."

John glanced out the office window, and finding no ropes in plain sight, merely said, "We are accustomed to working in a racially diverse setting."

"Great, I'll give you a tour. We're just now placing the support beams." Frank led all three men out of the trailer, toward the building project. As they walked closer to the site, some of the workers stopped to peer at the newcomers with their supervisor.

Frank raised his voice and announced, "I want you to meet a couple new guys. The fella with the beard is John and the other is Wayne." Wayne whispered into Frank's ear. "Oh, I've been corrected. The one with the goatee is Wayne and _this_ is John."

A discontented muttering began to drift among the workers. With their acute Vulcan hearing, Wayne and John clearly deciphered some of the derogatory remarks. "…A couple of crackers...Just great, working with honkies…We'll make them feel right at home..." And there were also profanities and malicious laughter.

Oblivious to the remarks, Frank said, "Stay here, you two. I'm going to bring the foreman over."

As Tony left the area with him, John stepped closer to his twin. "Do you have any knowledge of the term 'cracker' beyond an edible wafer?"

"Yes." Wayne kept his voice low. "According to T'Mara, it derives from an earlier Earth era when slave owners would crack a whip against the ground to threaten their slaves. As to the word 'honkie', I am at a loss. But brother, prejudice is not new to us. I assume that our experiences as children were similar. Name calling, provocation, isolation. Even at Starfleet Academy there were those who marginalized me. And now it seems that, once again, we are outsiders. "

"Indeed," John concurred, "that does seem to be the case. We will have to proceed with utmost care."

Frank, Tony, and the black foreman walked toward them. Frank made the introductions. "Leroy, this is Wayne and John Brandt. They'll be starting on the crew tomorrow…and they'll need training."

Leroy did not extend his hand. "Fine," he said abruptly. "Just make sure yous are both here at 7:00 sharp." At that he turned and walked away.

oooo

T'Naisa and T'Mara had just finished helping Andrea with some housework when they heard a car briefly stop at the curb, then drive on. They headed for the living room. Wayne entered the house with John right behind him. Each held a big shopping bag emblazoned with the word "Sears".

T'Mara looked from her husband to his clean-shaven twin, and back again. "Well? You got hired?"

With a hint of a smile, Wayne said, "We start tomorrow."

As T'Mara gave him a sweet celebratory kiss, T'Naisa embraced John and whispered in his ear, "Thank God."


	18. Watching Their Step

**Chapter 18: Watching Their Step**

"Breakfast, brother," Wayne-Spock said as he rose from bed and gathered his work clothes. Though the door was closed, he could smell food cooking.

John-Spock joined him and as soon as they were ready, they walked down the stairs quietly so as not to awaken their hosts. They entered the kitchen and their wives looked upon them with approval.

T'Mara went up to Wayne and softly murmured, "Mm, look at you in those work jeans, steel toe boots, and black sweatshirt. You really look sexy."

Lips upturned, he said, "T'Mara, please, not in front of the others."

But T'Naisa's attention was fully focused on her own husband. John sometimes wore denim around their cabin at Plum Creek, and she had always liked it. She also liked the color of his new sweatshirt —Starfleet cadet gray. The word "Philly" was emblazoned across the front in large maroon letters.

Kissing his lips lightly, she said, "Good choice on that shirt. There's an old Earth saying. 'When in Rome…'"

"…do as the Romans do," John finished for her with a fond arch of one brow.

Later at the work site, Foreman Leroy Jones seemed disappointed to see Wayne and John heading his way. "So you actually decided to show up. Well, let's see if yous skinny guys can handle a day's work."

Leroy found them yellow hardhats, then headed over to a steel framework and handed them rivet guns. All three rode an elevating work platform to an upper level of support beams.

"Go that way," Leroy ordered, pointing to their left. Then he went in a different direction, leaving Wayne and John on their own.

Taking full advantage of handholds, the Spocks eased themselves along the indicated beam toward an unknown work site. Hecklers began to shout insults.

Up ahead, Wayne saw a man waving them onward. "That's it, you two! Come on over!"

The crude remarks from the other workers expanded to include the helpful man as they reached him. "Uncle Tom!" "Yeah, Jerome, helping a couple of crackers." "It figures; he's not really black."

Ignoring the insults, Jerome held out his hand. "Hello, my name is Jerome McNabb."

Wayne noticed that the hecklers were correct in one regard. Jerome's skin was not black, but a warm shade of tan. "Hello," he said, accepting the handshake. "I am Wayne Brandt"

John also shook Jerome's hand. "And I am John Brandt."

As they carefully sat down on a beam, the other workers began a fresh barrage. "Hey, it's a reverse oreo! White on the outside and black in the middle!" "No, more of a peanut butter cracker. Two crackers on the outside and light brown in the middle." Loud laughter erupted from the troublemakers.

Jerome sighed. "Don't mind them. They just testing you and they don't care much for me. My father was white and my mother was black. In case you ain't figured it out, this city of brotherly love don't always live up to its name." Looking first at Wayne and then at John, he loosed another sigh. "It ain't easy being different."

Wayne glanced at his brother. Though they both understood Jerome's sense of alienation, there was no way to share that fact with him. Cautiously he said, "No, Mr. McNabb. I am sure it is not easy. But be assured, the two of us will treat you with the utmost respect."

 _"Mr._ McNabb!" Jerome hooted. "Man, I like your style. But please, just call me Jerome."

"Hey!" Leroy barked out. "You three slackers over there! I don't pay you to sit around on your asses! Get to work!"

They carefully got to their feet. When Jerome realized the men's inexperience, he showed them how to operate their rivet guns. As they began to set rivets, the heckling died down.

The autumn air was pleasantly warm as T'Mara and T'Naisa sat in the porch chairs waiting for their husbands to return home from their first day of work.

SQUEAL...rumble…SQUEAL…rumble. There was no mistaking those noisy brakes or that failing muffler.

"They're coming!" T'Naisa's face brightened as she rose to her feet.

T'Mara stood and eagerly looked down the street. The Woodie drove into view. Wayne parked alongside the curb, and the two far-from-clean men got out. Wayne came up to T'Mara. Slipping her arms around his neck, she drew him into a brief but passionate kiss.

T'Naisa glanced over John's grimy clothes before embracing him. With her cheek pressed to his, she said, "Well, it looks like they got their money's worth out of you."

"A day to remember," John said wryly.

As they entered the house, Andrea stepped out of the kitchen. "Hey y'all, just wash up for now. Dinner will be ready in five."

Soon they were all settled around the dining table with Andrea.

Wayne asked, "Is Tony not joining us?"

"No honey, he has a meeting with his boss, Angelo."

T'Mara froze. _Angelo._ Though the name seemed familiar, she could not quite place it. While her mind reeled with stories about Tony's less-than-savory connections, Wayne and John shared the better moments of their unusual day. They had befriended a man named Jerome. They had learned how to operate a rivet gun and walk carefully across steel beams. Their strength had been put to the test by much lifting and carrying.

Dinner ended, and though Tony still had not appeared, T'Mara tried not to worry as everyone gathered in the living room. T'Naisa shared the loveseat with John. Andrea tuned a radio to "WFIL, Philly's top 40 station" before joining T'Mara and Wayne on the sofa. As they talked, popular selections began to play. 

After a time, T'Mara gazed up at her husband and wrapped her arm around his. Without thinking she blurted, "I remember an evening when we shared some wine and chocolate-covered strawberries. Wayne sang 'She's a Lady'. Privately, of course. He's no Tom Jones, but the sentiment was sweet."

"'She's a Lady'?" questioned Andrea. "I thought I knew every one of his songs."

Too late, T'Mara realized that "Lady" was still years from being recorded. Before she could correct her mistake, Wayne removed his arm from hers, as if displeased. "T'Mara," he said stiffly, "I prefer that you not discuss such private matters in front of everyone."

Was the uncharacteristic reproach meant to distract their hostess? If so, it worked. Placing her hand on Wayne's knee, Andrea said, "Honey child...that was so romantic of you to sing to your wife. I'm sure Tamara didn't mean to embarrass you. Oh, how I wish Tony would sing to me."

"I was not embarrassed," Wayne insisted. "It is only a…a matter of privacy."

"Oh Wayne," Andrea continued warmly, "there's no shame in having your wife brag about how much you love her. I can see in her eyes how much you mean to her. I truly envy the relationship you both have. Ever since our child was murdered, Tony spends too much time at the job. And as to church, for the most part he has stopped going." Leaning back, she placed her hands in her lap. "Tony doesn't know it, but I even have the Pink Sisters praying for him."

"Pink sisters?" John questioned.

"Some Catholic nuns here in Philly. Their live a cloistered life, entirely dedicated to prayer."

"Ah, yes." John said. "Quite commendable." He would have liked to tell her about a new congregation of unbonded Yanashites that served a similar purpose. Instead, he merely listened as she reminisced about the early days of her marriage.

During a lull in the conversation she turned and said to him, "And you, John. I can tell that T'Naisa worships the ground you walk on. I hope you appreciate that wonderful wife of yours."

"I do, indeed." The corners of John's mouth lifted as he took T'Naisa's hand and looked into her eyes.

At that Andrea rose, and telling everyone goodnight, headed upstairs.

T'Mara whispered into Wayne's ear, "Nice job distracting Andrea from the Tom Jones song."

"I believe a reward is in order," Wayne softly replied. "Would you care to come upstairs and wash my back?"

T'Mara smiled. The couple stood up together, exchanged goodnights, and left the room.

T'Naisa waited for them to reach the top of the stairs before muttering, "Wash his back? Do you really think it will stop there?"

John raised one eyebrow high and admitted, "My own back could use some attention…"

She stifled a laugh. "I bet it could, and I know just the person to wash it."


	19. Painful Revelations

**Chapter 19: Painful Revelations**

At the construction site, Jerome continued to be the only person who spoke to the new pair of workers. The foreman only addressed them to assign each day's job. But at last the first week was over. Paychecks in hand, the men headed back home to their wives.

At dinner, Tony shared some good news. "I found a furnished apartment on 11th and South Street. It's a two bedroom above a cheesesteak shop, and the family is moving. Had to get out real fast. The owner says he'd be glad to rent it to yous all. You can move in next Saturday."

T'Mara looked at Wayne-Spock. "South Street. That's a good location."

"Yes," Wayne agreed. "Thank you, Tony. We sincerely appreciate your efforts in helping us find living arrangements…but will it be affordable?"

"Oh, not to worry. By next week, you both should have more than enough for the first month's rent." And he quoted an astonishingly low figure.

"That's amazing," T'Naisa said. "Is the landlord a friend of yours?"

Tony laughed. "You guessed it. Lots of friends in the neighborhood."

"It is unfortunate," John-Spock observed, "that the present renters needed to move so precipitously."

"Those are the breaks," Tony said, forking into his dinner.

The next morning, the travelers set out to explore 20th century Philadelphia and discuss the ever-present problem of returning to their own timelines. Then Sunday arrived. Wayne and T'Mara joined Tony and Andrea at an African-American church, while John and T'Naisa followed their own Yanashite traditions at home. They were downstairs, deep in meditative prayer, when a sound at the door roused them and they stood. Tony and Andrea headed straight upstairs. Wayne removed his suitcoat and laid it on the back of the loveseat before he and T'Mara sat.

"How was the service?" John inquired.

Wayne barely repressed a sigh. "Many welcomed us, but others were not pleased seeing me with T'Mara. I could sense animosity emanating from a nearby member of the congregation. When the man made a distasteful remark, Tony and Andrea tried to defend us. After the service, two older women pulled T'Mara aside and told her that she was living in sin. They recited a passage of scripture that, taken in proper context, has nothing to do with interracial marriage."

"How unfortunate." John took in a slow breath and lowered his voice. "Acceptance can prove difficult when people have experienced injustice...but it is heartening to know that prejudicial attitudes will greatly decrease as time passes."

"Thank goodness," T'Naisa said with feeling. "Of course, in our timeline there are new outlets for prejudice, such as CUE. 'Clean Up Earth', as if aliens are some form of contamination. People everywhere and in every time are flawed and in need of God's help."

All agreed that her assessment of the situation was correct.

oooo

Back on the job, Wayne and John started to gain a little respect from their co-workers. From the very first day, verbal attacks on the two men had been met with quiet strength and acts of compassion. Even Foreman Jones seemed impressed by their placid dispositions and willingness to assist others.

On the Friday of their second week, the whistle blew for the midday break. While John left for the latrine, Wayne joined Jerome by a big oak tree in a corner of the property. It was most unusual for Jerome to remain onsite, for he always rejected Wayne and John's invitations, preferring to eat his lunch elsewhere.

Wayne sat at Jerome's side, his back against the huge tree trunk. The day was warm for November. As Jerome absently rolled up his left sleeve, Wayne could not help noticing some needle marks that confirmed his suspicions. He had noticed that Jerome always returned from lunch full of energy, with dilated pupils. But as the day wore on, Jerome would become somewhat nervous and distracted. Such signs of addiction were painfully familiar.

Catching Wayne's eyes on the needle marks, Jerome jerked down his sleeve and became agitated. "What's it to _you?_ A white man wouldn't understand! I suppose you'll run to the boss and get me fired!"

With a deep sense of empathy, Wayne assured him, "Your secret is safe with me. Do you really believe that the color of my skin would prevent me from understanding? Do you think that so-called 'white men' have no experience of addiction?"

Wayne glanced up and saw that John had returned and was standing by Jerome's outstretched legs. So now the alternate Spock would learn of his shameful secret. Then so be it, for Jerome's welfare was of more importance than personal pride.

"Man," Jerome said irritably, "you couldn't possibly get it. You're as square as they come."

Wayne watched John sit on Jerome's other side. Steeling himself, he said, "Think, Jerome. Drugs are not colorblind. They do not consider social class or educational status. I am telling you the truth." He swallowed hard. "I am...I am a recovered addict." Not wishing to see John's reaction, he focused on his open lunch pail. "Approximately seven years ago, I was forcibly injected with a powerful drug. From that very first dose, I was addicted." Now came the hardest admission of all. "But Jerome…after a while...I...I enjoyed the sensations it gave me. Enhanced emotions, increased adrenaline and...and sexual desires. As much as I craved the drug, I also despised it…because when it wore off, I became ill and quick-tempered and…and hurt those who were dear to me. This continued for several months, during which time I was a so-called a 'functional' addict. But at last there came a day when I'd had enough. I went through a detoxification procedure, and with God's assistance I have remained free of the drug ever since." Drained, he rested the back of his head against the tree and closed his eyes. Very quietly he said, "Jerome, please believe me. I do understand."

Jerome was silent.

"If I may speak…" John's voice interrupted.

Anticipating his twin's censure, Wayne gazed up through the bare branches of the oak. It was a mildly dizzying sensation. What could John know of addiction's terrible hold? Ironically, it was just as Jerome had said. _John could not possibly understand. This other Spock was as upstanding as they came._

"Wayne," John began. "And Jerome. I want you both to know that I, too, have personal experience with addiction."

Startled, Wayne sat up straight and looked over at him. John stared off into empty space as he told of his dependence on a powerful drug initially used to treat him during a serious illness. Like Wayne, he mentioned its enticing pleasure and the excruciating effects of delaying a dose.

"Morphine?" Jerome guessed.

John hesitated and then merely said, "I was serving aboard a ship at that time, and the doctor—his name was McCoy—helped rid me of the addiction."

"Wooey," Jerome said. "Who would've thought. It's sure good knowin' that I'm not alone. Thanks, fellas."


	20. Suspicions

**Chapter 20: Suspicions**

During the week, the four travelers inspected and approved of the apartment found for them by Tony. On Saturday, Tony helped Wayne-Spock and John-Spock load the suitcases and supplies into the Woodie. Then Andrea got into the Buick Riviera and Tony slid behind the wheel for the trip to South Street. A short time later they parked by Mama Venezia's Cheese Steak shop. Joe Venezia noticed Tony's car from the shop's main window and came out to greet everyone. Then Mr. Venezia personally escorted them inside the little restaurant with its intriguing blend of aromas.

"Now remember," he said, "the way to your place is through this shop. But if you need to enter after-hours, just use the fire escape steps that lead to the outer door."

They all proceeded to the upstairs apartment. Its fully furnished living room, kitchen/dining area, bedrooms, and bathroom were spotlessly clean and more spacious than their living quarters in Los Angeles. It seemed too good to be true, but already there was trouble brewing.

As the two couples signed the rental agreement, Venezia's eyes kept drifting to T'Mara. After the papers were in order, he beckoned Wayne to the far corner of the living room.

In a low voice he asked, "Man to man…uh…is she really your wife?"

"Yes," Wayne replied.

Venezia nudged Wayne's arm with his elbow. "If you don't mind me askin', I've always wondered. What's it like to sleep with a colored gal?"

Anger rose in Wayne, but he forced the wayward emotion to subside. He could not let this discourteous man provoke him. Joe Venezia was their landlord. "Sir, I do mind. Perhaps you did not mean to be disrespectful, but I must ask you to show T'Mara the same regard owed to people of every race."

Wayne saw Tony approaching with a look of displeasure and assumed that he had overheard Mr. Venezia's words.

Tony stepped right in front of the landlord and said, "You're going to make nice with my cousin and her family, understand? I don't need to remind you that my boss is Angelo Bruno."

Fear crossed Venezia'a face. "Oh no...Tony, please, I was just shooting off my big mouth. I tell you what. These two lovely ladies can be servers at my shop, any hours they choose, and I'll pay 'em real good. Hows about it?" He directed the question at the two women, who had also walked over.

T'Naisa smiled in response, but T'Mara was shocked to hear the full name of Tony's "boss". Angelo Bruno had been the godfather of the Philadelphia Mafia until 1980, when he was shot down by Nicky Scarfo. Was her cousin really involved with him? The possibility brought a shudder.

Regaining her composure, she moved to Wayne's side and cautiously said, "That's a most generous offer, Mr. Venezia."

He grinned. "Oh no, call me Joe. And I insist. All the work you want."

Wayne hesitated before saying, "You are very generous…Joe."

 _"I'd_ be willing to work for a free cheese steak," T'Naisa cheerfully admitted.

"Then it's all set," Joe said, rubbing his hands together.

John stood silently absorbing all that had been said. The name Angelo Bruno meant nothing to him, but he had noted T'Mara's brief look of dismay. Joe's reaction to the name also made John uneasy. There was, however, no evidence to support any suspicion, so for now he dismissed it.

Seeing John's eyes lingering on her, T'Mara wiped her face clean of emotion.

"Well, good luck!" Joe said, heading to the door. He winked. "And remember, I don't want to hear that yous are having wild parties up here."

"I assure you, nothing of the kind will happen," Wayne coolly responded.

Tony and Andrea were next to leave. It was nearly 5:00 pm when the new tenants finished carrying up their belongings and arranging them.

Beset with hunger pangs, T'Naisa said, "Hey, why don't we take some money out of our jar and try some of Mama Venezia's food?"

"T'Naisa, not everyone here partakes of meat," John reminded his wife.

"I saw them preparing salads," she said hopefully.

John looked over at Wayne and T'Mara. Though their expressions seemed quite sober, they both nodded. After visiting the jar, they all headed downstairs and sat in a booth. A waitress came to take their order.

When T'Naisa asked for a cheese steak, the waitress said, "Aite, do you want it wit or witout onions?"

Perplexed, T'Naisa glanced across the table at T'Mara, who helpfully interpreted. "Alright, do you want it with or without onions?

"Oh. Yes, definitely with onions. Lots of them."

Everyone else chose a salad.

The waitress spoke again. "'Kay all, I'll bring out your warder"

This time they all looked at T'Mara. Amused by their inability to understand the Philly dialect, she asked, "What am I, a universal translator? She'll bring out our _water."_

After a short time, the food arrived. T'Naisa took one bite of her cheese steak, made a rapturous sound, and proceeded to devour the entire sandwich in reverent silence.

Between forkfuls of cheese-topped salad, John wryly commented, "I do hope you are remembering to breathe."

Her mouth was too full to answer, but she managed a greasy smile before dabbing her chin with a napkin.

When the waitress brought the itemized bill, John ventured a look and saw "on the house" written across it. Not sure of its meaning, he handed the paper to Wayne.

Wayne read the words and nodded with comprehension. "I know of this custom. Back home, our friend Marlena owns a restaurant. This means that the management is not charging us for our order."

"I have never seen such generosity," John said, adding the incident to his store of misgivings.


	21. Surah'than

**Chapter 21: Surah'than**

Another week passed. The men had just come home from work when T'Naisa realized that something was wrong. As they set their lunch pails on the kitchen counter, Wayne-Spock moved in his usual manner, but John-Spock walked a bit stiffly. Leaving the cutting board full of half-chopped vegetables, she embraced her husband and sensed his carefully controlled pain as he returned her greeting.

Drawing away, she said, "You're hurt."

"A minor strain," he replied. "It is of no consequence."

T'Mara and Wayne had been exchanging a kiss, as was their custom. Still holding T'Mara in his arms, Wayne said, "A worker lost his footing and was about to fall when John caught him…though rather awkwardly."

"He might have dragged you down with him," T'Naisa huffed with her eyes on John.

"But he did not," came the reply. "And as you well know, I have Vulcan methods of handling pain."

"Of course," T'Naisa said, hands now on her hips. "I can see by your face how good you feel."

"The problem is in his back," Wayne disclosed. "Low on the right, in the sacroiliac region."

John cast him a look of annoyance. "Thank you, Wayne. If you will excuse me, I am going to shower."

"Good idea," T'Naisa called after him. "Maybe the hot water will help relieve your nonexistent pain!"

When they sat down to a dinner of stir-fried vegetables and rice, John lowered himself very carefully into his chair.

After giving the blessing, T'Mara said, "John, perhaps after dinner I should give you a massage."

T'Naisa shot her a startled glance. Using her hands on his body? In a world of touch telepaths, she knew that any form of fondling would be considered intimate _._ Even among humans, massage was sometimes used for erotic purposes.

"No," John said firmly, much to T'Naisa's relief.

Curiosity made her ask T'Mara, "You know the art of massage?"

 _"Vulcan_ massage."

T'Naisa's mouth dropped open. "I never heard of such a thing. John, have you?"

"Certainly," he replied, launching into his teacher mode. "Vulcans believe that neuropressure causes the body to create its own medicine. One common form of massage is called Surah'than. Manual application of pressure relaxes the mind and muscles. It helps relieve stress, alleviate pain, and heal injuries."

"Well then, there you go," T'Naisa said. "Words of wisdom from your own mouth. Like it or not, you're getting a massage…from _me_. If T'Mara learned it, so can I."

"I'm not an expert," T'Mara interjected.

Wayne forked up a bite of teriyaki-seasoned vegetables. "Her hands are quite skilled—I can personally attest to it."

Seeing T'Mara blush deeply, T'Naisa stammered, "For…for therapeutic purposes? Or…"

With a wince, John leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. "Even among Vulcans it is a popular prelude to…marital intimacies."

Now _her_ cheeks took on a greenish tinge and she said, "This is going to be interesting."

Dinner was over and the kitchen was spotless. Under some protest, John removed his shirt and lay face down on his bed while an audience of three looked on.

"Okay," T'Mara said, "this is how you begin." Turning Wayne around, she touched her fully clothed husband near the base of his neck. "Start here, at the farthest position from the injury. Then we'll work down a little at a time. It's easier if you…uh…straddle him and…uh…sit on his…"

Over on the bed, John sighed deeply.

"I get the idea," T'Naisa said. With her advancing pregnancy, it took her a moment and a bit of laughter to achieve the proper position.

"Good," T'Mara declared, and guiding T'Naisa's hands, encouraged their proper use. "Press with your thumbs. A sort of kneading motion. That's it. My, but he's tense. Relax, John. Aren't we all friends here?"

John refrained from any comment as T'Naisa's hands worked their way down his naked back. She seemed to have a natural talent, for he found himself relaxing more than he would have thought possible in such an awkward situation. By the time she reached the problem area, his pain had eased considerably and his mind was turning in an unanticipated direction.

"John, how do you feel?" T'Mara inquired.

He carefully considered his reply. "Better. It seems that T'Naisa has all but mastered the basics of the technique. Thank you for your help, T'Mara. You and Wayne can leave us now."

"Are you sure?" T'Mara asked uncertainly.

"Yes, I am sure," John said. He was becoming more and more certain by the minute.

When the two of them departed, he said, "T'Naisa. Please lock the door."

Her hands paused and she sighed, "What for? There's no reason to be embarrassed." But rising from him, she did as he asked.

As she came back to the bed, he turned over with remarkably little pain and reaching out with both hands, drew her close.

"You really _are_ feeling better," she said, moving in for the first of several kisses.

"Mm," John responded. And coming up for air, he told her, "You are on your way to becoming a Surah'than master."

"Only for you," she whispered.

In the other bedroom Wayne removed his shirt, then sat on the bed. T'Mara stood in front of him.

Looking upon her with desire, he said, "T'Mara, you are an excellent instructor. T'Naisa easily grasped the technique from your demonstration."

She sat down beside him. "Perhaps T'Naisa is a natural."

"As are you, T'Mara. And as I recall, Surah'than is not only for healing. The last time you performed a relaxing massage, we both became rather…distracted." His lips turned slightly upward. "Your husband's back is uninjured, but he would like a massage from his lovely wife."

The look in her eyes told him that she was willing.


	22. Bullets

**Chapter 22: Bullets**

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday. Ordinarily T'Mara and T'Naisa would be heading downstairs to work at the Cheese Steak shop, but today Tony was taking them on a tour of the Italian Market.

Waiting on the sofa, T'Naisa said, "It's so nice of Joe to let us choose our own hours."

"Yes," T'Mara agreed, seated across from her. "Uh…it's probably because he knows you're expecting."

"Maybe so." T'Naisa glanced at a wall clock. "Tony's a little late. You don't suppose he forgot."

T'Mara's smile seemed a bit forced as she said, "Andrea told me that Tony is rarely on time. Let me see…the odds of him being late are 90.375 to one."

"You sound like..."

"Our Spocks," T'Mara finished for her.

T'Naisa laughed. "Yes, our Spocks may be different, but in many ways they're the same. Remember when we were watching that ridiculous TV show at Tony's? _Lost in Space?_ Our husbands started in about how a real crew in space would never tolerate Doctor Smith's antics. They kept at it until Tony said 'If you two guys don't shut up, I'll kick both of yous asses.'"

They were still laughing when someone knocked on the door.

T'Naisa rose and called out, "Come on in!"

Tony entered the apartment, full of his usual good spirits. "Sorry, ladies, for my tardiness. I had a last minute meeting with an associate of mine. Ready?"

The women quickly put on their jackets, and grabbing their purses, followed him out the door. Tony drove them down to Ninth Street and parked near the bustling open-air market. T'Mara and T'Naisa were mesmerized. There were fresh meats, fish, and cheese of all sorts. There were vegetables and fruits galore, from cauliflower to mangos. Merchants even sold cookware, kitchen towels, and aprons.

While T'Mara stopped to purchase some McIntosh apples, T'Naisa bought crusty Italian bread and provolone cheese. All the while, Tony stayed close beside them. As they proceeded down the street, T'Naisa halted suddenly and pointed to a store front. Two men were repeatedly tossing circles of dough high into the air and catching them with both hands.

T'Mara explained," That's how they stretch pizza dough to fit the pan." Lowering her voice, she added, "It's a lost art in our time. They depend on machines to shape the dough. That reminds me; I need to give you my recipe for Vulcan pizza."

 _"Vulcan_ pizza?" T'Naisa said a little too loudly.

T'Mara shushed her, for Tony might overhear. Careful of her words, she said, "Well, not exactly…because it does have the standard pizza sauce and cheese. I took Amanda's recipe for…Sarek's type of flat bread and his type of vegetables and spices. Wayne isn't fond of Italian fare, but when it comes to that pizza…well, he can't get his fill. We only had it on special occasions because the items we needed came from a specialty store and were quite expensive."

"Yes, they have to be shipped a long way," T'Naisa agreed. "John and I encountered the same problem. When his mother was alive, she sometimes sent him food packages."

T'Mara moved to a fresh pasta stand. After a moment she realized that T'Naisa had continued on and was now two stands away. Tony kept glancing warily at a black Cadillac parked about a block down from them. T'Mara turned in its direction. She could make out three men in the car—two in the front and one in the back. An eerie feeling ran through her.

Tony had fallen a bit behind, but now he came back with fear in his eyes. The Cadillac was rolling toward them at a slow rate of speed. T'Naisa had become absorbed by a demonstration of a blender. T'Mara's heart pounded as she moved closer to her friend. She saw the windows of the car lower. The Cadillac stopped nearby. Automatic rifles jutted out the windows.

"Get down!" Dropping her bag, T'Mara dove in front of T'Naisa and knocked her flat on her back.

There was a loud burst of gunfire, and something whizzed by her head as they fell. Then pandemonium broke out among the shoppers and merchants.

"What's happening?" T'Naisa cried.

T'Mara held her tightly until the car roared off. Then sitting up, she searched T'Naisa for any sign of injury. Seeing no blood, she was finally able to speak. "'T'Naisa...are you alright? I had to knock you down. People in a car were going to start shooting."

Tears welling, T'Naisa eased up on one elbow and said, "A bruise or two, that's all." She placed a hand on her ever-expanding waist. "I just felt the baby kick. She must be scared, too."

T'Mara helped her to her feet. People were coming back on the street. A kindly couple gathered their bags and made sure that they were uninjured. Sirens could be heard in the near distance.

"Where's Tony?" T'Naisa turned around and pointed. "T'Mara, look! I think he's been shot!"

Anger overtook T'Mara as she stared at her injured cousin lying flat on the sidewalk. This was all his fault.

"T'Mara?"

T'Naisa's insistent voice brought T'Mara back to her senses. She needed to push back the rage she was feeling toward Tony. Wordlessly she unclenched her hands and knelt near his head. The ambulance had just arrived. The attendants checked on his condition, found only a non-critical shoulder wound, and brought a gurney to his side.

Tony opened his eyes and looked at T'Mara. In a strained voice he uttered, "I'm so sorry..."

"You should be," she responded without sympathy. "T'Naisa could be dead. She might have lost her baby. Could you really live with that? Wasn't losing your son enough? Why didn't you get out then?"

He shook his head weakly. "It's not that easy. They'd threaten my life…and the lives of everyone dear to me."

T'Mara's anger drained away as the attendants carefully lifted him onto the gurney and headed for Pennsylvania Hospital. She boarded a transit bus with T'Naisa and soon arrived at the hospital's main entrance. In the emergency department, T'Mara identified herself as Tony's cousin. The clerk informed her that Tony's wife had been called and was on her way.

Relieved, T'Mara turned to T'Naisa and said, "We need to talk."

They sought out the hospital chapel and found it empty. While sitting side by side in a pew, T'Mara revealed Tony's involvement in the Mafia and everything it entailed. Tears spilled from her eyes. "Oh T'Naisa, I never meant for this to happen. I knew that Tony had a dubious past even before we came here to Philly. But I had no idea he was in this deep. When we were moving into the apartment, he mentioned Angelo Bruno, a mob boss. That made me concerned, but as the days went by, I told myself that it was Tony's business and didn't concern us. Everything seemed to be going so well." She drew a shuddering breath. "Can...can you ever forgive me?"

T'Naisa pulled out a tissue from her purse and handed it over. "T'Mara, your cousin has been so good to us that I'm sure it was hard for you to believe he has underworld ties. As for what happened today, I don't blame you. _You_ didn't fire those guns. In fact, you probably saved my life."

T'Mara fought to regain her composure. "But your Spock will never forgive me, once he hears about the shooting. He's still suffering from the pain of losing a wife and daughter."

T'Naisa placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "There's no need for him to know right away. For now, we'll keep this just between the two of us."

T'Mara shook her head. "I can't. I've grown so tired of lying."

"I'm not asking you to lie, T'Mara…just hold back the truth for a while. We'll stay clear of Tony and everything will be alright."


	23. Discord

**Chapter 23: Discord**

Evening came, and the foursome had finished dinner. Using Blue Chip stamps from gasoline stations and grocery stores, the women had recently filled enough books to cover half the purchase price of a small table radio. Inelegant but serviceable, the Zenith held a place of honor in the living room, where all of them gathered to hear the day's news—or in their case, "historical happenings".

Suddenly the male announcer said, "Earlier today a pregnant woman narrowly escaped injury in a drive-by gangland shooting at the Italian Market on Ninth Street. Longtime Philadelphia resident, Tony Washington, was wounded in the spray of bullets and because of his alleged Mafia connections, police suspect he was the intended target."

John-Spock sat up straight and turned to his wife beside him. He knew of her outing with T'Mara and Tony. When T'Naisa would not meet his eyes, he realized at once that she was the pregnant woman mentioned in the broadcast. Shaken, he looked across the room at T'Mara. She was holding her husband's hand, with Wayne-Spock's attention fully focused on her.

Abruptly John stood. "A gangland shooting. Mafia connections. T'Mara, you have known all along, haven't you? That explains how we settled into good jobs so quickly, despite our inexperience. It would also explain why our landlord seems intimidated by Tony and asks for so little rent."

T'Mara's tan complexion developed a tinge of green. Tears swam in her eyes. And still Wayne sat silently, hand-in-hand with his wife, gazing at her. It seemed that Wayne did not care if she had endangered each and every one of them, did not care that T'Naisa could have died today _._ Had John been calmer, he might have realized that Wayne was deeply shocked by his bondmate's secretive behavior. But for the moment, anger ruled him.

"T'Mara, you _knew_ ," he repeated. "You knew the danger. Yet you allowed that man to accompany the two of you in a public place!" An even more disturbing thought occurred. "And Wayne, could it be that you knew, as well?"

Suddenly Wayne was on his feet. Eyes narrowed, he faced John and said, "You will not speak to us in that manner."

" _Someone_ better," John retorted. "Someone whose thoughts are not constantly consumed by mating."

Wayne stepped up to him. "Consumed by mating. So it might seem to a person who is inadequate in such matters. Tell me, how did you ever manage to impregnate your woman? Or perhaps a neighbor helped you? Over at Kirk's horse ranch?"

The Vulcan hormones were in full play. T'Naisa and T'Mara exchanged frightened looks. At the rate this was escalating, there was sure to be more bloodshed.

John seized the front of Wayne's shirt and Wayne returned the attention.

"You will retract that remark," John said through his teeth.

Wayne gave a short, humorless laugh—shocking to T'Naisa's ears, for she had never heard a laugh of any kind from _her_ Spock. Curling his lips in rage, Wayne said, "One should never retract the truth."

At that, John shoved his twin so hard that his shirt ripped in Wayne's hands. Wayne came after him fist-first, but John ducked. Then they were scuffling.

"Stop it!" T'Mara shouted. Leaping up, she pulled on her husband's right arm without effect.

T'Naisa rose and tugged at John in the same manner. "Let him go! Come on! We're leaving!"

But John did not seem to hear her. Not knowing what else to do, she backed away and said, "Then I'm leaving without you." But she took both of their coats, along with his hat, from the hooks beside the door.

Perhaps he was listening, after all. With one powerful thrust, he hurled Wayne to the floor and followed T'Naisa out into the chilly night.

The back of Wayne's head had struck the coffee table, but it took only a moment for him to rise. T'Mara stood before him, her eyes wide open with fear.

"Are…are you alright?" she managed to ask.

"Yes," he replied with one hand on the throbbing point of impact. "I am…for the most part…undamaged." Once John left the apartment, his anger toward him had begun to dissipate. But now the source of all the trouble must be faced.

"My wife," he said, "sit down with me. We need to discuss what transpired here."

When they were side by side on the sofa, he briefly closed his eyes and further distanced himself from any negative emotions. Then facing T'Mara, he began, "First, I ask forgiveness for my unwarranted behavior toward...John." The name brought a fresh surge of irritation. "Though he had no right to directly blame you for the market incident, I should not have responded so precipitously. It showed a lack of discipline and an unChristian attitude."

Gazing downward, she said, "John was the first one to show anger. You were only acting in defense."

"True, T'Mara, but I responded in a like manner. My words were unkind." He placed a finger under her chin so she would look at him. "What I find most disturbing is that you kept vital facts from me. Am I not your bondmate? Why didn't you tell me what you knew of Tony's involvement with the Mafia? This is the second time you have held back information. Or is there more?"

"No." Tears welled as T'Mara saw the hurt in his eyes. "There isn't. And I should have been straightforward before I ever called Tony from Los Angeles. But at the time, I didn't know the true extent of his involvement. I never realized it until the day we moved into this apartment…when Tony mentioned that name."

"Angelo Bruno," Wayne recalled.

Struggling for control, she nodded. "Yes...but everything was going well with us and I just figured we were out of harm's way living here. All I ever wanted was for the four of to stay together." There was no holding back the tears as she buried her head on his shoulder. "Angel, I'm the one who needs to ask forgiveness. I'm the one who caused all this pain. John has every right to hate me."

Wayne held her tight. Stroking her hair, he said, "T'Mara...once John has time to fully consider the situation, he will realize that you meant no harm. We are all in need of spiritual recollection. Come, they left the car keys. We can attend the evening prayer service at that church you favor."

Striding side by side, John and T'Naisa were halfway down the block before either of them spoke.

"Of all the insults…" he seethed. "Not only to me, but to you as well. _And_ Jim Kirk."

T'Naisa did not point out that he had started the quarrel. In time he would reach that conclusion himself. Weary of trying to keep pace with him, she stopped. Noticing, he also stopped and turned around. From a passing car, someone whistled a "catcall". John came close and as she took his hand, the feeling of his tension made her own nerves tauter.

Looking into his troubled eyes, she said, "Please listen. After the shooting, T'Mara told me about Tony. Believe me, Wayne…didn't…know. He calls you brother and you think of him as your twin, but he's not. He's _you._ The two of you know exactly how to get under each other's skin because it's the _same_ skin. Being angry at Wayne is like being angry at yourself."

Holding tightly to his hand, she walked to the intersection and headed over to Hutchinson Street. They came to St. Paul's Church. She led him up the steps, away from the street lights, pedestrians, and traffic. Stars glimmered in the November sky as she stopped just outside the main doors. She could sense through John's touch that he was starting to grow calmer.

Studying the planes of his face, she admitted, "Back there…you scared me. You're all I have…" She patted the bulge beneath her coat. "Except for her."

"And I cannot bear the thought of losing you," he said. "If you had been shot…"

"But I wasn't." Fingering his cheek gently, she told him, "I'm here…and I love you. I love you just the way you are."

He drew her into a kiss that was part apology, part passion.

"Poor T'Mara," she said when they parted. "She didn't realize Tony was so deeply involved. She didn't think any of us would be in danger."

"She should have given the matter more thought," he replied. "At the very least, she should have shared her concerns. And as for Wayne…"

"He only came to her defense. You would have done the same for me. As a matter of fact, you _did_ come to my defense. My brave commandant…"

This time she initiated the kiss, and then they went inside.

They had visited the old church before, when the pews were nearly as empty and the lights low. It was safe enough for him to remove his cap, since his hair now covered his ear tips. They knelt to one side, toward the rear, and were enveloped in a deep sense of God's presence as the red sanctuary lamp flickered beside the tabernacle. On the wall behind the altar there was a beautiful mural of Christ's crucifixion, reminiscent of the Yanashite's icon-portraits in their own timeline. Catholicism closely resembled their own faith, and John had long believed that Yanash and Jesus were physical manifestations of the same Savior-God. In the 23rd century, he had even engaged in a series of discussions to that effect with Pope Augustine.

Would they ever return to their own timeline again? While they quietly prayed, T'Naisa slipped an arm through his and rested against him.

As Wayne and T'Mara exited a small stone church, she took hold of his hand and said, "A pleasant service, was it not?"

"Yes," he agreed, leading her to the Woodie. "The congregation here is more accepting of our differences…and tonight the minister's message was so apropos. Words on forgiveness and mercy." He walked to the passenger side of the car, and unlocking the door, opened it for T'Mara. He then went to the driver side and got behind the wheel.

Fresh tears streamed down T'Mara's face, for she still felt guilty and overwhelmed by the day's negative events. "Oh, how…how can I ever face John again? What if he's still angry at you, too? What if he wants to move out again?"

Wayne gently touched her cheek. "T'Mara...it is not logi—."

"Yes!" She interrupted. "Yes, I know, it's not logical to speculate about the future." She wanted compassion from him, not logic.

"T'Mara, my love," he began again, "if you will just let me finish. Unfounded speculation is _not_ logical, but if you must speculate, please remember that John is both Vulcan and Yanashite. Therefore he is not only rational, but also compassionate."

Starting the temperamental auto, he steered it out of the parking lot.

John knew from an inborn sense that Eastern Standard Time was precisely 10:03 PM and nine seconds.

"It is rather late," he said, seated beside T'Naisa on the sofa.

He had changed out of his torn shirt. Before them, the oblong table Wayne had fallen against was now set with everything necessary for tea, including water patiently reheated over and over…and over. Beside the pot, there was a plate of Vulcan style "cookies" naturally sweetened with raisins and dried pineapple.

Only Wayne and T'Mara were missing.

For the second time in the last hour, T'Naisa expressed concern over Wayne's condition. "What if he got hurt when he fell? What if they're at the hospital? And now everyone knows that he's an alien?"

"I doubt that he was seriously injured," John told her. "But judging by the look on his face, he would have liked to injure me."

Neither of them spoke. Then T'Naisa said in a disheartened manner, "Maybe they're never coming back."

"Sooner or later they must," John replied reasonably. "Everything they own is here."

T'Naisa sat up straight. "Is it?"

In a minute she was in their room, peeking in the closet and checking drawers. After thoroughly invading their privacy, she returned somewhat reassured. "They don't _seem_ to have taken anything…except, of course, the car."

As T'Naisa began to pace, John picked up his flute—that symbol of Wayne's former regard—and blew a few bars from a composition by his older son, Simon. Though he would not have admitted it, he was nervous.

Just then the front door opened.

Wayne and T'Mara entered, shed their jackets, and silently stared at their counterparts. T'Naisa had ceased pacing. John set down his flute and stood.

The tension in the room mounted until John cleared his throat and said, "T'Mara, now that I have thoroughly reviewed the situation, I can, perhaps, understand why you felt compelled to accept Tony Washington's dubious assistance."

She responded with a tremulous but hopeful smile. "T'Naisa was sick. We are in a frightening situation and you were talking about leaving us."

Nodding, John turned his attention to Wayne. "I should not have resorted to a personal insult. T'Naisa has assured me that you had no knowledge of Tony's Mafia involvement. Rising to your own defense—and that of your bondmate—was only natural."

T'Naisa came over to John and tightly gripped his hand. He could feel her anxiety as Wayne looked upon them, his face devoid of all expression.

Then Wayne's eyebrow quirked, his lips compressed, and he calmly conceded, "It may be that I spoke a few insults of my own."

 _"May_ be?" T'Mara frowned at her husband.

"I apologize," Wayne said. "Since _you_ are essentially _me_ , I have no doubt that you _could_ impregnate a woman if you so choose."

T'Mara elbowed his ribs sharply. His hand went to the spot and he cast her a look of displeasure.

Another awkward moment passed until John gestured toward the coffee table. "As you can see, T'Naisa has prepared some refreshments."

"Is that tea?" T'Mara exclaimed, pulling Wayne over to the seats. "Just the thing. We've been at church and the service just went on and on."

"Isn't that funny," T'Naisa said, settling back on her sofa with John. "We went to church, too. Over on Hutchinson Street."

Cups rattled and steam rose as the tea was distributed to everyone.

Sampling a cookie, T'Mara said, "Oh, these are delicious."

"It's a recipe that belonged to John's mother."

"Really?" T'Mara looked over at Wayne. "Are they familiar to you?"

He tasted one. "Indeed. I do remember these from my childhood, only with dried Vulcan fruit." He met John's eyes. "Mother made them for special occasions, such as birthdays."

"Yes," John agreed.

The conversation began to flow more naturally as the four of them reminisced. When the teacups were empty, John took up his flute and said, "I know it is late, but I think we are all missing those we left behind. It has put me in mind of an old song by Ed Bolduc. T'Naisa can sing the words for you." Raising the flute to his lips, he began to play "Journey for Home".

 **"In our weakness we're made strong,**

 **In our suff'ring we're made stronger,**

 **We live and journey, journey for home…"**

When the last notes faded, T'Mara warmly thanked them.

"Yes, thank you," Wayne agreed, rising along with the others. "Earlier tonight we forgot the brotherly love for which this city was named." And holding out his hand to John, he said, "Can you forgive me?"

John did not hesitate to clasp the proffered hand. Then, as was the Yanashite custom, he embraced Wayne, all the while thinking how strange it was to interact with himself in such a manner.


	24. Time Machine

**Chapter 24: Time Machine**

There was reason to celebrate. Having weathered a major confrontation, the two couples were in agreement regarding any future role Tony Washington would play in their lives. Everyone deemed socialization too dangerous. Though they were grateful to Tony for past assistance, from now on any contact would be limited to the phone. T'Mara had already called Tony in the hospital and he seemed to understand their concerns…though, of course, he was unaware of their true identities and what exposure would mean to them.

The weekend was fast approaching when T'Mara scanned one of John-Spock's newspapers and saw an advertisement for a "drive-in theater".

"Look at this," she said to T'Naisa, who was devouring a thick meat-laden sandwich from the shop downstairs.

T'Naisa did not understand. "A big theater…into which you drive a car?"

"No. I've heard of these. The car remained outside. The movie screen was outside, too. Everyone pointed their cars toward it and sat in the comfort of their vehicles. There was usually a little store where you could buy various items of food."

T'Naisa frowned. "And everyone just sits there…in cars…watching a movie on the big screen?"

"Well…" T'Mara smiled coyly. "I have heard that lovers didn't _always_ have their eyes on the screen." Pointing to the ad, she said, "This one is called a 'double feature'. The first movie is _Panic in the Year_ _Zero!_ with Ray Milland and Frankie Avalon."

T'Naisa said, "I heard them talk about Frankie at the shop. He's what they call 'a Philly boy'."

"Perfect," T'Mara declared, "and so is the other movie. _The Time Machine_ with Rod Taylor and Alan Young."

The men were not hard to convince. After a week on the construction site, both Wayne and John were open to experiencing a recreational activity of historical note. The titles of the movies tweaked their interest, especially since _Panic_ displayed a picture of an atom bomb explosion when there was no nuclear capability in the year zero of Earth's calendar.

On Friday night they ate a quick dinner and donned their coats. Taking a couple of blankets, they got into the Woodie. John was not surprised when Wayne and T'Mara opted for the backseat. With T'Naisa at his side, he drove through the night to the Packer Drive-In and joined one of two lines of cars edging their way to a central payment booth. Once their entry fee was paid, they proceeded to a large area paved in a series of low hills. Strange metal poles jutted from each hump at regular intervals.

As John paused to study the situation, the car behind him honked. He pulled aside, letting the car pass, and watched the driver park near a pole atop one of the rises.

"Ah," he said, and attempted a similar maneuver, but it was not as easy as it appeared. It soon became apparent that one must stop the car at just the right angle to allow its occupants to view the movie screen from both front and back seats. Not that he expected much dedicated viewing from the backseat occupants, but he kept that thought to himself.

After several forward and backward adjustments, everyone was satisfied. John put the car in "park", set the hand brake, and turned off the engine. Then they assumed comfortable positions and observed the other movie-goers as they awaited the antiquated entertainment. The vast majority were youthful couples, either with or without children. Below the huge white screen, lights shone on a play area where youngsters in pajamas and jackets were engaged in the ageless pastime of "swinging". The sight reminded both couples of children back home, but there was little time for gloomy thoughts. Suddenly the screen came to life with a cartoon featuring snack items in a silent dance.

"Is there no sound?" Wayne questioned from behind.

John looked over at the neighboring vehicles. Off to the right, he noticed a driver window cracked open with a dark cord running over to a pole. Turning to his own driver-side pole, he noticed a metallic box. He rolled down the window and heard music. Apparently the box was some sort of speaker. In a moment he had it inside the car and the window rolled back up as far as it would go. Already the interior temperature was dropping.

"It is going to get cold," he said, reaching for the front seat blanket.

T'Naisa snuggled a bit closer and whispered, " _I'll_ keep you warm."

There was a bit of movement in the back seat, and T'Mara giggled.

"Do not tickle," Wayne was heard to say.

"I thought Vulcans weren't ticklish," T'Mara replied.

T'Naisa drew her hand over John's ribs and wiggled her fingers. He jumped and snared her hand. Peeking into the back seat, she said, "Mine is ticklish, too."

A cartoon began. After the droll antics of Sylvester and Tweety, it was time for _Panic in the Year Zero!_ As the movie unfolded, John said, "The title of this film is clearly erroneous. The story deals with the aftermath of a nuclear detonation in contemporary Los Angeles."

There was no immediate response from the couple in back. Then whispering could be heard. "T'Mara...please…not my ear. I think such stimulating activities can wait."

There was a sigh from T'Mara as she whispered back, "Okay, my sweet. I'll wait…for now."

Wayne cleared his throat and attempted a reply to his twin's remark. "Ah...yes John, in regard to the movie's title, I agree. Quite erroneous."

After the first movie, there came an interlude of advertising that featured more boxes of dancing popcorn, candy, and beverages. Despite the heat of four halfling bodies, the car's interior temperature continued to drop and the windows had steamed, inhibiting their view of the screen.

John started the engine and adjusted the heater to defrost position. Then, like pregnant women everywhere, T'Naisa felt the need for a restroom.

"Wayne, T'Mara," John spoke into the shadows of the backseat. "We are going out to the snack bar. Would you care for any refreshments?"

T'Mara smiled. "Oh Wayne, do you think they sell hot chocolate?"

Wayne's brow rose. "T'Mara, I do not think it wise. You know that chocolate can affect us in embarrassing ways."

"Aw," T'Mara coaxed, kissing his cheek. "We came to enjoy ourselves…and you won't be driving. Just one small cup? Please?"

Up front, John came close to remarking that the two of them were already a source of embarrassment. But in view of the recent confrontation, he remained silent.

"Very well," Wayne said. "Yes, John, a small cup for each of us. And popcorn, since I believe it is customary while watching movies."

Leaving the engine idling, John donned his cap and accompanied T'Naisa to the nearby facilities. As he waited for her, he stood observing the moviegoers making their selections at the snack counter.

T'Naisa soon emerged, and drawn by the enticing aromas, studied a menu on the wall. "Mm, popcorn…and hot cocoa. Sounds good to me, too."

Unlike most Vulcans, she was able to consume both chocolate and refined sugar without any deleterious effects. Their turn came. John purchased their selections and they were heading back to the car when T'Naisa stopped him and pointed upward.

"Look at the size of that moon," she said.

As he took in the sight, a fleeting sense of displacement came over him. There in the dark, T'Naisa rose up and kissed him on the lips. Though his hands were full, he returned the attention as best he could, and came away firmly rooted in the present.

They arrived at the car and found the doors locked. T'Naisa met John's eyes over the roof of the vehicle. "You don't suppose…"

Suddenly a sharp wind began blowing. "I don't suppose," John said with some asperity, "that we are going to stand out here in the cold while they are busily warming themselves."

Balancing the box of refreshments, he rapped on the side window. A hand reached forward and unlocked the front doors. There was just enough time to pass out the purchases and settle in before the main feature began. As the title came on the screen, John turned off the engine.

 _The Time Machine_ dealt with a very different era than the first movie—a more gentile, mannerly period of Earth's history. John was curious to see the imaginative time machine in action. Onscreen, the time traveler was gazing at his homemade apparatus when something outside the Woodie caught John's eye.

The brief flash seemed to have come from the sky. Lightning? How odd. Only moments ago, the moon was clearly visible. Leaning forward, he looked up through the windshield at a roiling cloud cover. The car shook from a heavy gust.

A few drops of rain spattered the glass as, onscreen, the time traveler settled into the seat of his machine and set the large disk at its rear spinning. Outside the car, the wind was increasing in velocity. Multiple forks of lightning streaked downward, and suddenly one struck the movie screen dead center. The thunderous flash left John-Spock momentarily blinded. When his vision cleared, he was holding T'Naisa's hand. Somehow the Woodie was gone. It was daylight and they were on their feet. Wind roared through a stand of pine trees while dark storm clouds scudded eastward. Before him stood a newly remodeled structure with a Yanashite cross atop its roof.

Startled, he turned to T'Naisa. Her hair was blowing wildly and her eyes were wide with wonder as she exclaimed, "It's Plum Creek! We're home!"

The wind died down. Warm sunshine broke into the clearing.

T'Naisa reached up and pushed aside his disheveled, overgrown bangs. "Thank God," she said, "but the others…T'Mara and Wayne…"

And then she was in his arms. They were still holding one another when James came walking home from the airbus, his schoolbag slung over one shoulder. Still at some distance, he shouted, "Did you see that crazy storm?"

Drawing back from T'Naisa, Spock looked upon his son for the first time in months. His heart warmed with relief and gratitude. "Yes Jamie, we saw it."

He had never before used the affectionate derivative for James, but the teenager was too stunned to notice. Reaching them, his mouth dropped open and he said, "Father, your hair!" His shocked eyes traveled to the large bulge at T'Naisa's middle. "And…and…"

T'Naisa caught him in a swift embrace.

"Indeed," Spock said, running a hand through his collar-length mane. "It would seem that I am in dire need of a barber." He looked upon his wife. "And for you, a long overdue prenatal examination."

"But…but _how?"_ James stammered, taking note of their outdated clothing, as well. "You both look like something out of an old movie."

" _The Time Machine_?" T'Naisa cast an amused look at Spock in his 1960's wardrobe.

From inside the cabin came the sound of a phone chiming. Spock suddenly remembered that they had been…they _currently_ were _…_ in the midst of arrangements for Plum Creek's first Yanashite retreat.

"Come," he said, heading for the porch. "In a moment I will do my best to explain."

"Scientifically, of course," T'Naisa added with a wry upturn of her lips.

oooo

As thunder boomed and the car rocked from a blast of wind, T'Mara wiped the fog from her side window and peered out. "A storm like this on a cold November night? There was hardly a cloud in the sky."

Wayne leaned forward to better consider the elements. "Yes...quite peculiar."

A sudden bolt of lightning hit the movie screen. The flash was so bright that both he and T'Mara winced. Feeling rather dizzy, they reopened their eyes and saw that it was no longer nighttime. They were no longer sitting in the Woodie, but standing on a beach in their 1960's attire.

Joyfully T'Mara threw her arms around him. "We're back! We're back in Santa Cruz!"

Holding her, Spock saw that they were indeed near the steps of the Santa Cruz boardwalk. "It does seem that we have returned to our own timeline."

T'Mara let go of him and glanced around with concern. "T'Naisa and John...they aren't with us. Do you think they made it home safely, too?"

"Most likely," he reassured her. Seeing the bystanders staring at their outmoded garb, he took her hand. "Come, we are drawing attention. We should head back to our lodgings."

At the beachfront hotel, they entered the lobby and saw the same female desk clerk who was on duty when they left. Hoping to escape the clerk's notice, they averted their faces and began to hurry past.

"Commandant Spock, back so soon?" came the clerk's friendly voice. "I guess that awful storm chased you in. Strange, how it seemed to come out of nowhere."

They had no choice but to pause and look at her. As the clerk's eyes roamed over them, she reacted with surprise.

"Yes...yes quite unusual," Spock said, taking another step toward the lift.

"Commandant! Your hair...it's so long…and those aren't the outfits you two left in. I'm sure of it."

Pausing, Spock whispered in his wife's ear. "I believe it is time for a colorful metaphor."

T'Mara gave a nervous laugh as a series of possible reasons for their appearance rushed through her mind. Experimental hair growth tonic? Period clothes donned for an old-time hologram? But she had had her fill of deception. Facing the clerk, she merely smiled and said, "Odd, isn't it?"

With a look of approval, Spock held out his hand to T'Mara and escorted her to the elevator. Fortunately they rode it alone all the way to their floor.


	25. Home

**Chapter 25: Home**

Another night had fallen, and the occupants of Plum Creek were still settling back into their normal timeline. In the comfort of their own bed, T'Naisa turned toward Spock and ran her fingers through his freshly clipped hair.

"Oh yes," she said by the flickering light of an attunement flame, "I like it so much better this way, all neat and trim, with your ears showing." Her index finger explored one elegantly pointed tip.

As he reached over and drew her close, the baby kicked.

"Did you feel that?" she asked. "Just like the doctor said; little T'Mara is as healthy as can be."

"T'Mara?" Spock said with the sleepy lift of one eyebrow.

"I'm thinking about it."

"Here on Earth, the children will call her 'tomorrow'," he warned.

She laughed. "Roll over, smartie, and I'll give you a massage."

Wordlessly he complied. As she rose up and worked her thumbs into the neuro points along his back, she slipped into a pensive mood. "T'Mara and Wayne. I keep wondering what's become of them."

"They are almost certainly back in their own timeline," Spock replied. "And if _they_ are in bed, you need not wonder as to…"

"Oh hush," she laughed. Pressing her thumbs down his spine, she said, "I bet this feels good."

"Mm," came the muffled response.

"It's not fair that you get all the pleasure, and besides, T'Mara told me that Surah'than helps women during childbirth. So in the morning…before you start losing yourself in Yanashite business or timeshift theory, you get your first lesson. Agreed?"

"Most certainly," he replied in a very relaxed manner.

And then he was asleep and T'Naisa lay beside him, lost in sweet dreams of motherhood.

oooo

In a separate reality, Spock and T'Mara had just tucked in their daughter, T'Kera, for the night. T'Mara headed to their home office to contact their older children and found the screen linked to the Seismic Early Warning site. A chill ran through her. Hearing a quiet footfall, she turned, and there was Spock standing in the doorway. She had trimmed his hair back to Starfleet regulation before they arrived home, and for a moment she just eyed it.

Then she said, "So…when are we going to share our timeshift experience?"

For an unusually long moment, he considered. "Perhaps there is no need. When we arrived back, we were among strangers at Santa Cruz, so none of our acquaintances saw the change in us. It would be different for John and T'Naisa, since I assume that she arrived home in an advanced state of pregnancy."

T'Mara did not understand. "But what of the big earthquake that John warned us about? I know you've been checking on the SEW system, but he told us that it failed. When you bring this up to the proper officials, you'll have to explain how you received the information." He was silent for so long that she finally said, "Spock. You _are_ going to tell the authorities, aren't you? You can't trust the SEW system. That quake could strike at any time. Think of our family and friends; think of the millions of lives here in San Francisco."

"There is no evidence that a severe quake will strike in _our_ timeline," he countered. "And as we have no proof of meeting my alternate and his wife, who would believe such a bizarre tale?"

"But an earthquake _might_ strike. _Make_ them believe."

One eyebrow rose as he considered the distasteful task. Finally he conceded, "T'Mara, you are correct. Whatever the consequences, we are obligated to try and prevent even a potential disaster by any means at our disposal. Therefore I will arrange a meeting with Admiral Jamieson first thing on Monday."

Her resolve did not waver. "Monday? Shouldn't we contact him immediately?"

"The hour is late. He would not be pleased."

"I don't care. This is vital. Either contact him, or I will."

Coming to a decision, he headed for the computer. "Very well, T'Mara. We shall…as they say…'beard the lion' now."

As expected, Admiral Jamieson was not happy to have his evening interrupted, and therefore answered rather gruffly. Spock apologized for the late call. With T'Mara at his side, he related all that his counterpart had told him about the possible failure of the Seismic Early Warning system and the potential for upheaval on the entire West Coast. He then explained how to relieve the stress on the tectonic plates.

Predictably, Jamieson asked how Spock had obtained such knowledge. As Spock and T'Mara shared their tale of the recent timeshift and encounter with a second Spock, they watched the admiral's forehead furrow. With concern or with disbelief?

When it was over, Jamieson loosed a sigh and declared, "Spock...if I had heard this from anyone else, I'd tell him to sober up and go check into the psyche ward. But alright. We'll investigate this. I want both of you in my office at 0900 hours tomorrow. I'll leave a message for the mayor and the top engineer at SEW headquarters. Hopefully they can meet us, too."

"Tomorrow?" T'Mara pressed. "Why not tonight?"

"It can wait," the admiral replied firmly. "Now goodnight to you both." At that, his image faded to black.

Spock rose from the desk chair. Still deeply concerned, T'Mara said, "Do you think he really sees how important this is?"

"I prefer not to speculate," Spock predictably replied. Taking her hands, he spoke softly. "My determined wife...we have done all that we can for now. Come, let us focus on this present moment. It is as John once told me. 'One regrets those opportunities when one might have expressed affection and did not'." His lips tenderly met hers and then he whispered, "I love you."

Her heart warmed as she smiled at him. "And I love you always and forever."


	26. Gone but Not Forgotten

**Chapter 26: Gone but Not Forgotten**

It was a cold, lazy Sunday afternoon. Tony and Andrea Washington were sitting in the living room watching the Eagles play the Giants on their new color television set. In the middle of a big play, the wall phone rang out.

"Really...now?" Tony complained. "The Eagles are moving into Giants territory."

"Oh dear, I'll answer it." Andrea got off the sofa and walked over to the phone. After a brief conversation, she looked over at her husband with a worried expression. "Tony, it's for you...it's the police."

Standing aside, she listened in and watched the concern on her husband's face deepen. As he slowly hung up the receiver, she asked, "Tony, what's happened?"

He swallowed hard. "That was the cops, alright. Wayne and John's Woodie was abandoned at the Packer Drive-in last weekend. The cops have it at the impound lot…and…and both men are missing. There's no sign of their wives, either. The apartment still has all their clothes and belongings. The officer said they suspect foul play…'in light of recent events'."

Andrea's heart wrenched. "Oh, no. Do you think they've been taken by the mob?" Her voice cracked as she pleaded, "Tony, you need to come clean with the police. Five lives are in jeopardy."

"Five?"

"Did you forget? T'Naisa has a baby on the way."

Tony raised his hands, wincing as pain lanced through his injured shoulder. "Andrea, are you aware of the danger that would put _us_ in? Sure, they could set us up with the witness protection program, but that means we'd have to leave our home…and give up all our friends."

Tears welled in her eyes. "We could live anywhere, Tony. A house is just a house. And we can make new friends. I wasn't going to share this till tonight, but…but Tony, I'm expecting, too."

His lips began to tremble, and then he was hugging her close. "Oh, Andrea. Can we? Can we really start over?"

The phone rang again. Reluctantly Tony parted from his wife and answered it. "Hello, Joe...yes, Joe...I heard about them disappearing...yes, yes…I'll take care of December's rent." He sighed. "Sure, I'll find you new tenants. But Joe, I need to go...bye." Scowling, he slammed the receiver down. "That low-life doesn't seem the least bit worried that they're missing! All he cares about is money!"

Right then and there, Tony contacted Frank from the construction site to verify that Wayne and John had been absent from work. Frank cussed Tony out for supplying such "lousy deadbeats" and said not to expect any more favors.

"Fine," Tony retorted, "but I'll soon be sending a little favor your way." He had made up his mind. He was going to the cops. And Frank would have his day in court, for he was Angelo Bruno's cousin, in deep with the Mafia.

Monday morning, Tony and Andrea headed to the police department's main office. After cutting a deal with the feds, Tony shared everything he knew about the Mafia and its ties to Angelo Bruno. The head investigator secured police protection for them and made plans for Tony and Andrea to move out of the area with new identities.

oooo

The very next day, a young man sat under the old oak tree at the Philadelphia construction site. All last week he had missed his two friends. He heard rumors that they were not coming back and that the mob had offed them. Leaning his head against the tree trunk, Jerome prayed that the rumors weren't true and his friends and their wives were safe. That very hour he made a promise to himself that he intended to keep. Right after his shift was over, he would head to a rehab clinic. Once he was clean, he would enter the community college. Then on to Temple, for all his life he had dreamed of becoming a teacher.

oooo

On the Pacific coast, Christmas was in the air as a man walked out of a Desilu soundstage where he had picked up a day's stunt work during the hiatus of _Mission: Impossible_. A disturbance in the parking lot caught his attention and he cautiously moved in for a closer look. Two blacks were accosting another man. Tyrone froze and stood watching the two thugs knock a lean white man to the pavement. His mind flashed back to a time when he was in that same predicament, only the thugs attacking him were white. Two white strangers named Wayne and John had come to his rescue without hesitation. They had treated him with respect and eventually they had become friends.

Gathering himself, Tyrone stepped toward the scene. "Hey! Let him be!"

A dark, angry face looked up at him. The brute of a man had the white victim facedown, in a hammerlock. "What's it to you, brother? He's just another rich honky. It's time for him to hand over our share of the wealth."

Tyrone ran up to the thug, grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him to his feet. This enabled the white man to stand back up. The second assailant pulled out a knife and pointed it at Tyrone.

Tyrone sputtered with anger. "Call me brother, then pull a knife on me?"

As the white man rubbed his arm, he saw that his assailant was preoccupied with Tyrone and remembered a move that a fellow actor had taught him. He swiftly karate-chopped the man's forearm. His eyebrow shot upward in surprise, for the man actually dropped his knife. The thug was reaching to pick it up when a studio security car skidded to a stop nearby. He and his partner in crime scattered like mice.

"They're muggers!" Tyrone yelled to security.

"Stick around, the police are on the way!" came the reply before they roared off in pursuit.

Tyrone turned to the casually dressed crime victim and saw his face clearly for the first time. With a start of recognition, he said, "You're Leonard Nimoy...the actor who plays Mister Spock. You look a little different with your eyebrows grown in and your hair combed to the side." The first season of _Star Trek_ was on hiatus, too.

"Yes, I imagine so," Nimoy replied with a smile, tucking his shirt back into his jeans. He held out his hand. "Thank you, sir, for coming to my assistance. They caught me by surprise when I was unlocking my car."

Tyrone gladly shook his hand. "You're welcome, Mr. Nimoy. My name is Tyrone Kennett. Stunt man for Greg Morris." He dropped his hand to his side.

"Yes, I remember you were friends with the Brandt twins. A most unusual pair."

"One of a kind." Tyrone chuckled. "No, wait. _Two_ of a kind."

They were still reminiscing over the Brandt brothers when the police arrived.

oooOOooo


End file.
